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kachowden · 5 months ago

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OMG I NEED TO KNOW MORE ABOUT ARMAROS!!!! he’s lovely

For those of you curious about this creature v

Here’s a little information about him ❤️

He was originally created as a baldurs gate oc! He was my Tav, before becoming a part of a short story I had written (self indulgently), where he becomes a party member of the Player. And then from them I kinda fell in love with him and he took on a life of his own as a completely separate character.

His lore stems from having been a somewhat unconventional drow, who had a few too many ideals about life outside of the underdark and too many altruistic ambitions that stray a bit too far from their typical religious teachings under Lolth.

With his desire to venture outward and away from the group, as well as being a rather tall species of drow, and therefor “imperfect”, he was cast aside into the above to live out his absurd existence. After an unsuccessful attempt at becoming part of the elven species, (still being regarded as an “evil drow”, despite his rather timid disposition) he was led to wander for a while, before coming across a traveler. (In this case, you)

Now drow are known for their manipulation and mistrust of others, and while Armaros is a bit of an unusual drow, that way of life is still rather ingrained into his heart and mind. So he puts on act, a rather silly one given his stature, and plays the role of a helpless victim. He sells the role rather convincingly, and is absolutely delighted when you allow him to join your journey.

It doesn’t take long for him to develop a crush on you, especially if you’re of a separate species. But it all becomes set in stone when you valiantly come to his aid during a particularly nasty spat with some ogres and goblins.

“‘….This feeling in his chest. It hurt. Was he dying? Had life outside the underdark warped him deep inside? Why was it, that as he watched you fight against the beasts that had attacked him, his heart raced and throbbbed within his ribs. His lungs hurt from how powerful the thuds were, and his ears twitched, swearing that even amidst the swords clashing against each other, you’d be able to hear it….’

‘..His cheeks burned in an unusual manor, almost like the shameful burn he’d feel when his fellow drow had scoffed at his words when he gushed about life above. But this wasn’t shame. No, it was too fluttery, to dizzying to be such a negative emotion…’

‘Drow were highly intelligent, so it didn’t take long for Aros to connect the dots, when his eyes stayed so dutifully locked onto your form, a holy light seeming to shine around you and reflect off the sweat that beaded your skin…’

‘..You must have been a god.’

‘…A benevolent being sent to guide him and keep him safe, to restore his faith and to nurse him back to health with your kind words and gentle touches..’

‘..Yes, that was it. You were a God. His God.’”

Armaros, despite being a highly intelligent creature, had taken his realization of love towards you (despite only having known you a few days), and twisted into something made of unhealthy devotion. His belief that Lolth teachings were not suited to him, left him feeling a bit lost previously, and so when his somewhat deluded mind latched onto the way you protected him, and seemed to bathe him in your holy presence, he became your faithful little follower.

Offering you gifts, and praising poems. Upholding your words like they were sacred teachings, and even going as far as to write them down. “My god, My savior, My Lord, My Holy One” were all names he had referred to you as while you continued your journeys together. You were obviously a little disturbed by such a drastic title, but no matter how insistent you were, he would merely smile with such a love struck gaze and go on about humble and kind you were. You could be a completely evil and rule being deep down, and he’d still defend you till dying breath, and insist that his god could do no wrong.

Now despite the belief that the very ground you walked on was sacred, it didn’t stop his more selfish desires. Yes he knew he was hopelessly in love with you, but his belief that you were his god shrouded that love with obsession and a twisted lustful shame that brewed deep inside him. He even fought with himself in thinking that he did not deserve you in such a way, and yet did not believe anyone else would be a more suited lover for you. No one would worship you like he did.

His eyes would often wander down your figure, or lunge towards your lips when you spoke. He was still a rather pathetic character, or at least he behaved in a rather timid and shy way. Often whining about various things, and clinging desperately to your form as you walked, mumbling about how unfit it was to have you walk, you should let him carry you! He’s strong, and his stamina in unmatched. He could take care of you in anyway you saw fit.

No no! You mustn’t prune your hands with the rivers water, let him! He’ll bathe you, and rest assured he won’t miss a a single inch. Perhaps his hands wander a little to much and his washing becomes something more akin to a massage but nonetheless. You’re certainly squeaky clean by the end of it.

Overall, his help is usually more of a hindrance, with how much he hovers around you, and how hostile he can be towards potential party members. He’s selfish with his god, why would others deserve to worship you the way he does? They can praise you from a distance.

But anyway that’s pretty much his lore🙏 I love him so freaking much, makes me kick my feet and twirl my hair fr.

#yandere #yandere x reader #x oc #x reader #my art #yandere drow x reader #yandere drow #yandere worshipper #artists on tumblr #armaros oc #drow x reader #oc x reader

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quizzievivicalavellan · 9 months ago

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How to Make Me Smile

In which Gale helps Aster fall asleep after a nightmare and Aster talks in her sleep. Occurs in the Underdark after confronting Nere.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53341882/chapters/142956958

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

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!”

A swipe of a hand, a body flying through the air.

Screams echoed. And laughter. Nere, teeth bared in a wicked smile. Red-hot fire reflected in his eyes.

Lava spreading, engulfing everything. At the center, a gnome, crying in agony. Flesh melting, exposing blood and bone. Lips half burned away. “Help me! Help me…”

*GASP*

Aster woke with a start. Her eyes shot open, and the gruesome image of melting flesh was replaced with the familiar walls of her tent, barely visible in the gloom of the Underdark. Her breath came in ragged, shallow gasps and her heart felt as if were trying to escape her chest. As she sat there shaking in the dark, the gasps turned to sobs, and her eyes stung with unspilled tears.

The same nightmare, now three nights in a row. Each time it seemed to affect her even more than the last. After everything she’d been through recently, most would find it odd that the death of a single gnome would be what finally gave her nightmares, yet that was the truth. Honestly, despite the mind flayers, the parasites, the goblins, and every other threat and horror of her adventure so far, she had been enjoying it. Her new friends actually valued her opinions and looked to her for guidance. She’d been able to help people, and she’d felt such a rush of happiness and victory and appreciation partying into the night with the tieflings after saving them from the goblins. She felt important for the first time in her life, like a hero in the stories the caretakers at the orphanage used to read when she was a child.

She’d been a fool.

People like her, like that gnome that Nere had cast aside like she was nothing, weren’t heroes. They were pawns in the universe’s great game of lanceboard, mere sacrifices for the truly important players. And Nere, though more formidable and horrible than Aster had anticipated, was far from the most important player in the Absolute’s army. How was a nobody like her supposed to defeat such a powerful foe? It was impossible. She felt so small and weak and insignificant as she sobbed into the darkness. The gloomy, cramped interior of her tent felt as suffocating as the growing dread in her heart. Aster wrapped a blanket around herself and stepped outside, hoping a walk might soothe her mind.

It was impossible to tell night from day in the Underdark; only the quiet of the camp and her own tiredness betrayed the lateness of the hour. Aster longed for the lush flora and cool breeze of nighttime forests that had always brought her peace, but the druid had to admit that the Underdark had its own kind of natural beauty. Instead of trees and shrubs, mushrooms of all colors and shapes decorated the subterranean landscape. Many varieties glowed defiantly in the gloom, shining across the ground like a mirror of stars in the night sky.

The mushrooms weren’t the only things glowing. Light emanated from one of the tents in the camp – Gale’s. It seemed she wasn’t the only one having difficulty sleeping. Then again, Gale was a night owl by nature and could often be found lost in a book in the wee hours of the night. The thought brought a small smile to Aster’s lips despite the heaviness of her heart.

Gale – in the short time she’d known him, she’d grown quite fond of the wizard. A blush crept into her cheeks as a memory popped into her mind. Aster had been so embarrassed when she had accidentally imagined kissing him while they had been connected by the Weave that she’d almost run away. But then, she’d felt his surprise and trepidation morph into elation “A pleasant image, to be sure.” He had imagined it before too.

And yet, save for some stolen glances, subtle touches, and flirtatious exchanges, their relationship had remained imaginary, both of them too scared to make it real. Something real could hurt, something real could be lost. Aster was too familiar with heartbreak and found it hard to let someone close enough to hurt her that way again. She cared deeply for Gale, and he seemed to care a great deal for her, but it was difficult to be certain of the truth of his feelings. Between the fallout of his disastrous relationship with Mystra, the orb, and the parasite, he might just need someone to grasp onto in the middle of the chaotic storm of his life. Would he still need her, when it was over?

Aster blinked away her troubled thoughts and found herself right outside Gale’s tent, unaware that she had even been walking toward it, drawn to that warm light like a moth to a flame. Her hand hovered over the flap of the tent. Part of her wanted nothing more than to go inside and throw her arms around him and let herself cry into his chest. For him to hold her and tell her everything would be alright.

But the other part of her made her draw her hand away from the entrance and turn back toward her own tent. The part that didn’t want him to see her so shaken and weak, eyes red and tearstains on her cheeks. She took a deep breath to try and pull herself together. She needed to be strong enough to face whatever dangers lie ahead. More than that, she needed them, and him especially, to believe that she was. With a sigh, she took the first step away from the warm glow of Gale’s tent.

****

Gale couldn’t sleep. This was far from unusual for him, but it was frustrating, nevertheless. Although his body felt tired, the minute his head hit the pillow his mind started racing with the couple of dozen things he ought to be worried about at the moment, and several dozen others he likely had no need to worry about, though every day it was getting increasingly difficult to tell the difference.

To give his overactive mind something else to mull over, Gale cracked open one of the newer tomes he had found on his adventure, Fringe Philosophy, Vol. 5. by Taura Brinn, who had some fascinatingly radical opinions on the study of more forbidden magics. As he reached a chapter on implications of Netherese magic study for the understanding of the nature of the Weave, he heard a noise outside the tent.

It was probably just the baby owlbear their troupe had somehow ended up adopting. Owlbears were nocturnal creatures by nature, and the little scamp could often be heard getting into trouble at night. Still, he supposed he ought to make sure the noise wasn’t something dangerous. Well, more dangerous, anyway. Gale was not entirely convinced that the owlbear wouldn’t grow up and decide to attack them all, but Aster did have a way with animals, and he could hardly protest after seeing her smile when it showed up at their camp for the first time.

He put the book aside, leaving it open on the blanket to keep his spot, and walked quietly to the entrance of the tent. He carefully pulled away the flaps and peered out into the dark camp, gently lit by the glow of hundreds of mushrooms. He looked down and saw a familiar head of red curls start moving away from the tent.

“Aster, is something wrong?” he whispered, stepping outside the tent. She flinched in surprise and stopped walking but didn’t turn around.

“Sorry, I… I didn’t mean to bother you,” she whispered back, pulling the blanket tighter around herself.

“Nonsense, you are never a bother.” He pulled back the flap of the tent with one hand and gestured toward the entrance with the other. “Would you like to come in?”

Finally, she turned around. Their eyes met for a moment before she looked away, turning her face as if trying to hide it behind the thick curtain of her hair. It was obvious from her red, puffy eyes that she had been crying. Gale realized then that this was the first time he had seen her cry, and his heart ached at the sight. He had a sudden urge to hug her, but he didn’t want to overstep and make her uncomfortable, so instead he kept holding open the tent until she stepped inside.

She sat down cross-legged on one of the blankets strewn across the floor and he sat down next to her on top of his bedroll. They sat there for what felt like a long time in uncomfortable silence. Finally, unable to bear the quiet any longer, Gale started to ask “Do you want to talk about –“ but Aster interrupted him before he could finish the question.

“What are you reading?” she asked, pointing to the open book on the ground next to him. While the deflection tactic was obvious, Gale let her get away with it.

“Fringe Philosophy, Vol. 5. The author makes some fascinating points on the potential costs, benefits, and implications of the study of Netherese magic. It is rather technical and verbose; I doubt it would interest you.”

“That sounds perfect.” She paused for a moment before speaking again. “Would you… read it to me?” she asked shyly.

“Umm, yes I… sure, I can do that,” Gale stammered out, taken aback by the request. Without another word Aster rolled up her blanket into a makeshift pillow, set it down next to his bedroll, and laid down on her back. Gale followed her lead and laid down beside her. He picked up the book again in one hand, resting the base of it against his chest, and began to read aloud in hushed voice just slightly above a whisper. “Consider, if you will, what an understanding the formation and structure of the Karsite Weave might reveal about the metaphysical essence of…” As he read, the sound of her breathing slowed and deepened.

After several pages, he felt a weight press against his side. He looked down to see Aster’s head resting on his shoulder, her arm draped across the left side of his chest. The book almost slipped from his hand, but he caught it and set it down gently before it could fall and wake her up. Her hand brushed unconsciously down his chest, and both his heart and the orb pulsed rapidly beneath her touch. He couldn’t pretend he hadn’t pictured it before, lying next to her, her hands on his skin, kisses hot and breathless...

He took a deep breath to calm himself. The orb thrummed dangerously at the rush of emotion and desire, a reminder of why he had not acted on his feelings for her. Well, part of the reason, anyway. The other major factor was his lingering doubt that she actually felt that way about him. Sure, he had seen that imagined kiss through their connection in the Weave, but she had seemed embarrassed and perhaps it was just a passing fantasy brought on by the warm embrace of the Weave. Many of their conversations after had seemed flirtatious, but Gale was sorely out of practice at detecting that sort of thing and had not been particularly gifted at it to begin with.

That was all true, but the biggest source of doubt was thus: what could she possibly see in him? He was a disgrace, a failure, a mere shell of his former self with but a fraction of the power he once wielded. Once, great feats of magic had come to him as naturally as breathing, and now even the simplest spells sometimes proved challenging. The great archmage Gale of Waterdeep, reduced to the ability of a novice by his own recklessness. He would do anything for her, give her everything he could, but he knew he had little to offer. She would realize that, sooner or later, and then she’d have no more use for him. He couldn’t go through that, not again…

“Mmhmm, Gale,” Aster murmured, bringing Gale back to the present.

“Yes?” Gale whispered, looking down at her head resting on his shoulder. Her eyes were closed, and she seemed to still be asleep.

“Gale, you’re… sosweet,” she said, sleep slurring her words together. “Youalways… knowhowto… make me smile.”

And she was smiling. All the worry and sadness that had been weighing on her when she was standing outside his tent were gone from her peacefully sleeping face. It was as if she had read his mind, had heard his doubts and answered them. Yes, that was something he could do. He could try to be a source of comfort, a laugh, and a smile in these uncertain times, make her burdens a little bit lighter. It might not be much, but it was something.

“Scraaaaatch,” Aster whined in her sleep, her dream clearly having changed subject. “Wyll’s boots arenotforeating!... Good boy,” Aster mumbled, petting Gale’s chest as if he were the camp dog. Gale stifled a laugh, trying not to wake her.

“Goodnight, Aster,” he whispered, tucking a stray curl of red hair behind her ear. He closed his eyes as sleep finally washed over him, the two of them lying there together, both smiling as they dreamed.

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sorcerous-caress · 1 year ago

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I’m a lesbian (tho gender is a bit Complicated so idk if I should call myself that) but I do love the idea of Minthara x male drow reader because the Forgotten Realms wiki describes a “functional” romantic relationship between a female and male drow as ��a spoiled brat and her well trained, obedient dog” and this is fiction so 😌

Also the idea of him leaving the Underdark with practically an army at his back to find her, he’s scary and ruthless and commanding, but the second he finds her he’s just like “yes ma’am, whatever you need ma’am”

Anon we should trade braincells because this idea is fucking gold.

Drow Male Reader, who was just for her during her days in the underdark. Like any other servant Male in the Baerne house, battle runs through his blood, he was shaped by war.

Who Minthara claimed you as her prize from her first ever successful surface raid. Her red eyes landed on your figure between all of the other males and announcing to the matron of the house that she wanted ownership over you.

She was ruthless, never allowing you to show even a hint of weakness. Breaking and reforging you into the strong capable warrior that you are today. You were hers fully in body and mind, even after a full day of brutal training, she'd still expects you to be laying ready for her on her bed each night.

You've known her body more than she has, given her pleasure more than she thought was possible. You've made it your sole purpose to memorise and trace every curve and mole on her painting of a body.

Part of the reason she kept around for so long was because she could see clearly how determined and willing you were to serve her. While other princess switched males every other month like toys, Minthara has always made it clear that you were off limit. That you belonged to her.

You've never betrayed her, even with the pathetic attempt of the uprising happened you still stood by her side. Watching the other males be cursed into driders without even a hint of sympathy for them, to you they deserved a worse fate for even thinking they could lay a finger on your mistress.

So imagine when in one of her raids, a one she refused to take you on, saying how it would be a matter of a couple days at most before her return, she never comes back.

You're restless, barely even acknowledging your own statues as you march into the matron hall and voice your concerns for Minthara. Ready for whatever punishment your disrespect will ensure if it meant you get your lover back.

Somehow, through various methods of blackmail, backstabbing and even begging or seducing, you accumulate a big enough army to march it into moonrise towers. Having sniffed information from some half-orcs your intel kidnapped and tortured.

Not even the shadowcurse deters you from moving forward, even when half of your army dies or flees in cowardness.

Fate has it that you manage to infiltrate the tower and be at the perfect spot to be able to view her argument with Ketheric. That fucking male faerie who dared to sit down on a throne whole your Mistress stood. That sorry excuse of a walking corpse that dared to threaten her life and make her argue for it.

Immediately after it ends, you signal for your remaining army to march into the tower. Hundreds of drow warriors emerging from the Shadows as they clash with the absolute followers.

You don't care for them or their lives, your main objective is to get to your Mistress and get her to safety.

In the aftermath, when it ends, when it's just the two of you in a far away camp safe from the shadowcurse. You kneel against her legs as you offer your apologies for taking so long, she pats your head, spreading her legs to make space for you.

And like any loyal dog you immediately obey and sit on the floor between them, your head on her thigh as she holds your face with her hand.

An unspoken trust between the two of you.

#♡Minthara #♡Male Drow Reader #♡drama

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cybernecromancer365 · 11 days ago

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A Little BG3 Fic

Note: I am super new to BG3 (currently playing) and took some creative liberties here. I haven't dove fully into the lore. I just really like Minthara and wrote something for her and my Drow Tav because I felt inspired. I've also never written 2nd person...so there's that too lol

Here's a couple pics:

(At Camp)

"Meet me at our place tonight."

There's vulnerability in Minthara's eyes that concerns you. But you won’t call it out here. You'll wait until dark, until summoned, out of respect for her.

Night comes and your mind's eye feels her calling for you. You know exactly where to go, the same place you shared your first night together. And she's there, waiting for you under the Absolute's gaze.

Her back is turned to you and her head is hung as she braces the altar of the Absolute. Minthara never turns her back to another warrior. To do so could mean death--her words--which she’s escaped many times.

To avoid her sudden startle and a possible knife to the throat, you reach out to her with your mind. She's doesn't turn around but a faint sigh resonates from her.

"Come."

At her word you venture closer and reach out--tentatively--to touch her. The tip of your finger touches her bare back. She stiffens momentarily, turns an ear over her shoulder, then looks away.

Tonight is different than any other. Sorrow swarms within her and your heart swells with compassion.

The back of your hand strokes her skin tenderly, and you grasp her side, closing the distance between you two.

You press yourself to her and enclose her in your embrace. You kiss her neck and give her a gentle nudge with your face into hers.

Drow to Drow, you both connect. Her scent enriches and you open your mind, sending her comforting reassurances, and more.

Her body warms under your touch, a chemical reaction to the moment. Drow aren't known to be warm-blooded outside of bed chambers.

To taste her again...You hasten to the thought. Your ears twitch. You want to make her yours, to accept your mark so no one else may have her as a mate. But Marking is hasty when you two are still getting to know each other. Marking on one another creates an indebted bond for life, and only extreme circumstance may warrant its destruction due to the consequences of its high cost. Madness.

Minthara chuckles softly and turns to face you. She places her hand on your chest. "Your desire is palpable but calm yourself. There's time for that later."

"What's on your mind?"

"Our homeland."

You eye her silently, knowing the homeland she speaks of is not one you both share. The tattoo on her neck, your conversations with her have never turned to it. However, though you may be from a different collective, you instantly recognize the symbol of Menzoberranzian nobility, as any Drow would.

"Under the Absolutes influence my memories were a blur. But now...now they return."

"You miss it..."

"Sometimes." Her gaze suddenly pierces through you. "You're not from my city, are you? Your eyes and these markings..."

She finally notices your eyes. You wondered when she would. "Where are you from?" She traces your tattoo with her finger, from beneath your bottom lip to the end of your jaw and down your throat. "Every Drow, whether displaced or not, is a product of Menzoberranzian history." She strokes your face like a necromancer looking upon a newly risen creation. "One of the outer cities? I've not met many Drow with green eyes."

Your eyes weren't always green...

You debate whether to hold your tongue or tell her your truth. She'd kill you once she found out. But you've broken your oath, your tie to the brotherhood is severed. You can't feel them, so they shouldn't be able to feel you. Especially not so far from the Underdark.

The air prickles with her impatience. She wants an answer you can't give. Perhaps a distraction will help quell the moment and soften the warrior in your arms.

A kiss. Your lips pressed to hers. It sends a riling surge all the way to the tips of your ears. Her kiss is calculated and smooth. It's clear she's done this before.

"Don't think I've forgotten..." Her tone is softer than before as she speaks within the kiss. "Soon you will tell me what your purpose is on the surface."

#bg3 tav #minthara #bg3 #bg3 fic #fanfic #minthara x tav

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inquisitcr · 1 year ago

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Not yet, but there was a long life ahead of them. Somniar looked forward to seeing just how far the architect was willing to go. Had they not all but dedicated their lives to each other? It had taken him a mere second to answer the question of what he truly wanted in this world. He could live without Felandaris. He absolutely could. He just didn't want to. The murderous little creature in front of him had the inquisitor's heart beating in the palm of his hand. All he ever needed to do was squeeze it and Somniar would be nothing. And he knew what it was like to be nothing. The drow had grown up in the filth where every other commoner in the Underdark stayed. He'd known suffering and he'd known pain. However, he hadn't let it hold him down. No, he simply used it on others to hold them down. Their heads were below the water while he was above it. He would always be above it. No matter who he had to stomp on to get there. Well, except for Felandaris of course.

"Oh, you're teasing me, darling." His mouth met the other's ear, tongue peeking out to run across the shell of it. There was so much he could have asked for in that moment, but he stuck to the one thing the both of them knew best. "Torture me."

To think that the lowly cretin that had crept into the chamber of Ayi'ig's council would come to be sharing his bed with him, they'd moved swiftly through courtship to forced cohabitation because if there was anything Felandaris would not tolerate it was fleas. Who knew what manner of vagrants wandered about the area where Somniar lived, Felandaris would not be seen coming and going from that destitute hovel of a home. Their game had just been fun at first, Felan toyed with the other because it had been clear that Somniar coveted something that he could never have. As any ambitious upstart might, he all but salivated at the prospect of claiming him, and still Felandaris deflected. Still, the Architect's mind would wander, wander to the calloused hands of a man who'd pawed his way up from the dirt, the mind of a genius who could maneuver the annals of the greatest and most complex minds. Who cultivated fear and panic with every breath. Hands that were bloodied and seasoned in what it meant to be a drow.

Hands that found him now, that kept him steadfast. Hands that Felandaris welcomed in the dark of the night, that held him between the sheets where not even they could see. Neither were soft, not even for each other, but the architect had foolishly done what he swore he never would, and now he'd risk it all just to see how far Somniar could rise. "Not yet." Felandaris promised, "But someday I'll make you rue the day you left your simple, peasant life behind."

#d. felandcris #dialogue.#all. felandaris #this thread can just transcend time #and be fast forwarded #pre war ja feel

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ask-fantasy-sanders-sides · 5 years ago

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In the last ask you said that the Surface Drow still cared a lot about their traditional fighting styles, and I remember a while back you said Virgil used to do demonstrations whenever they would meet surface drow! Can you tell us more about those styles? How important were they, and which ones does Virgil know?

The traditional Drow fighting styles are famous not only in the Underdark, but all over the Surface world!

Drow are known around all the Planes of Existence for one thing: their cruel and effective combat prowess. Their traditional styles take years and years to master, and are ONLY known by the Drow. Many surface colonies are the descendants of escaped slaves and merchants, so they often don’t have masters who know how to teach the different disciplines. This is seen as a great shame, since it is such a pivotal part of their culture.

Virgil, as a soldier and a Blackguard (Priestess’s personal guard), was given opportunities to learn and master several many of these fighting styles, though some he prefers more than others, and thus has a better mastery of.

The styles Virgil is trained in, from most favorite to least, are: (under cut cause this long)

Luth alur (or ”Superior Shooting” in Drow Elven): Basically, extensive training in the bow and crossbow. Masters in this style (like Virgil) could shoot at least twice as far as any other master of Archery as if it were nothing. This is one of the more notorious ones on the surface, and one of the four Elite – or most respected – styles of combat.

Ust sreen (”First Danger”): A style about striking first and quickly reacting at the opening of a fight. As soon as you notice the enemy, overwhelm them, so they can’t even get a hit in. It’s like the offensive opposite to the defensive Bautha z’hin.

Z'har thalack (”Riding War”): A mounted combat style, used by the cavalry. Focused on fighting while riding a Giant Spider, Giant Lizard, Displacer Beast, or other such monster. (Virgil isn’t as fond of this one because, aside from the fact that he can’t climb walls or walk on ceilings as well as them, he is like twice as fast as every mount he’s ever been assigned to. They literally slow him down)

Bautha z'hin (”Dodge and Walk”): A style based on speed and evasion. Masters of this style wear lighter, tighter armor, to make movement faster and easier. They dodge until an opening is revealed, then attack the weakness relentlessly. Usually, they can end a fight without taking a single hit.

Kyone veldrin (”Alert in the Shadows”): A style that emphasized the use of ‘Darkness,’ and fighting blind: When most Drow reach a certain level of power, they can spawn an orb of darkness around their person. This darkness is magical, which means not even creatures who can see perfectly in the dark can see through this shroud – including the Drow who made it. Virgil cannot yet do this, but he would practice by blinding himself and relying on his other senses in a fight. (If you remember that backstory tidbit, this is how he beat those Behir!)

Kyorlin plynn (”Watch and Take”): Used to capture opponents alive. This style was favored both by conservative fighters, and priestesses of Lolth…. But for completely different reasons, that will become more obvious when I get to Jivvin golhyrr.

Sargh'elgg (”Valor in Slaying”): A style that focused on making use of the drow race’s natural agility, and on the use of one single light weapon. This was the only style open for the poor who lacked education options, so every Drow knows this one. If this is the only one you know, you’re looked down on as,,,, pretty weak, even though this would absolutely whoop the ass of the commoners in literally any other society.

There are a few he’s not yet mastered, but knows a bit of:

Draa velve (”Two Sword”): Involving the use of two swords, one in each hand. This is one of the more Elite and well-known styles, like Luth alur.

Jivvin golhyrr (”Amusing trick”): Is another Elite style, and a more cruel extension of Kyorlin plynn – A style used to force enemies into humiliating positions, favored by priestesses of Lolth. The focus in this style is not in killing your opponent, but torturing and making a spectacle out of them. Marissa tried to get Virgil to learn this one for her entertainment, but it was similar enough to Kyorlin plynn that she let him slide with that, as long as he really honed his skills in that one.

There are a few more that Virgil hasn’t been trained in, but knows of:

Orb alur (”Superior Spider”): Is the fourth and final Elite style. This style focused on striking many opponents with one sweep. Its users were highly valued and granted special privileges.

Phindar streeaka (”Mindless Recklessness”): This wasn’t a style at all, but a catch-all term for mindless violence used for battle. It was “used” by drow berserkers, though there were very few of those, and this style was looked down on for being ‘ugly and undignified’. For a long time, Virgil called Remus (a Raging Berserker) a ‘Streaker’ as an insult. This is not what Remus thought he meant

Z'ress a'thalak (”Force of War”): A style that put emphasis on physical strength over accuracy. It was also looked down on, since it didn’t look quite as pretty as the other skill-based styles, and there werent many Drow who used it. Drow don’t tend to be that strong, and those that are (like Virgil) are also usually dexterous and agile enough to just pick one of the other styles instead.

#lets roll #game lore #tw implied violence

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npc-says · 5 years ago

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Kunt Tower: Lossan

“It’s not ready, my lord.”

“I am tired of your excuses!”

With a crash, an old urn shatters against stone wall. The crash echoes throughout the hollow antechamber.

A Mind Flayer in an ill-fitting and tattered, once-elegant robe stands with fists clenched and angry impatience flaring in his eyes. His underling, a small, quivering halfling, cowers against the wall, shielding himself with trembling hands in an attempt at defense from the Mind Flayer looming above him.

“We must leave the worm in the brine for another day, sir. If we remove it any sooner, it will be too frail for transfer.”

“It’s supposed to be so powerful that it all but consumes its host!” the Mind Flayer snaps. “How can it be too frail?”

“One can be both frail and powerful, sir,” the halfling insists. “We do not want it to be so weak that it will not have its chance to unleash its power.” He was recruited specifically for his knowledge of the forbidden corners of underdark arcana and physiology, and it was clear that Ambassador Huzhi Suliazhi, despite his prowess in other areas, was in over his head on the current subject matter. He does not like telling Suliazhi something he doesn’t want to hear right now, but the fallout from another botched transfer would be much worse than anything he’s enduring now.

Luckily, he is saved by the hasty arrival of one of his colleagues. Another halfling runs into the room, almost out of breath, then prostrates himself in front of Suliazhi on the cold, damp stone floor. He is seemingly catching his breath before speaking, but the first halfling knows that pause all too well; he has done something similar, buying time before having to deliver less than ideal news to Suliazhi.

“The Magistrate is coming, my lord,” the second halfling quavers once he finds his voice.

“He is early,” Suliazhi growls, displeasure dripping from every word.

“He heard we have taken her prisoner,” the second halfling says, still at Suliazhi’s feet, “and said a meeting was necessary to clarify terms.” He glances up briefly at another two of his dwarven colleagues who have been standing silently nearby in the antechamber. At their feet lies a small humanoid, about their size, covered in stained cloth and bound at the wrists and ankles.

“I don’t understand what he could possibly need clarified,” Suliazhi snaps. “The Orange Guard takes the city. We use the containment to find a suitable host. I have found a suitable host.”

“He says she is not a suitable host,” the second halfling reports, wincing and ready for punishment at the message he is delivering.

“Nonsense, he doesn’t know a damn thing about how ANY of this works,” Suliazhi snorts derisively.

Luckily, the sound of approaching footsteps and the distraction it provides allows the first halfling a chance to exchange an eye roll with his colleagues at the thought of Suliazhi accusing someone of their ignorance.

Jonathan Robertson is a composed human man, even one that would be considered handsome by many. He enters the antechamber in such a manner, retaining a serious and impassive expression as he strides into the dark, foreboding room as if it were nothing different from the well-lit, cushy dens, libraries, and municipal halls he is accustomed to occupying.

This composure was largely the reason why he was chosen for this job, as Chief Magistrate of Falschegal’s highest court. He had convinced the regional governors and the members of the Councils of both the Many and the Small that he would be the most impartial of arbiters at this post. Like the neutral overseer of a non-lethal duel, he had insisted, he would be ruling on matters of justice as if doing little more than judging which fighter struck first and where.

He had risen to prominence in hopes that he would issue his decisions in the heritage of the more human-leaning politicians. For the most part, he toed that line, and predictably decided cases before him in that regard. But his manner of doing so was constrained, calm, and consistent with the niceties expected of his station. He maintained the composure characteristic of the Cliffsides of society, the old respectable culture of proper noble politicians, and did not lower himself to acting in or displaying a manner of zealotry that was far beneath him. No, he left that to Kunt adherents.

The calm and evenness of his disposition rarely ever left him. Though this demeanor was consistent with the dryer, more technical decisions to be made (those regarding the minutiae and tax and trade disputes, for example), nobody would have been surprised if he showed any sort of remorse or smug satisfaction for some of the more controversial rulings he had to issue. Those were the rulings that could reach near and far across the country’s population in tangible ways, ripping entitlements and access to food, healing, and shelter to the most vulnerable populations. And yet despite the known impact of these decisions, Robertson approached them with the requisite solemnity required of his post and did so unflinchingly, for better or for worse. It was unclear if he was simply insensitive or cruelly indifferent to the impact of his decisions; all anyone knew was that his unyielding professionalism prevented him from showing any inclination or emotion one way or another.

With that same, impassive expression, he had even shown the rare boldness of rendering decisions contrary to the interests of his noble human brethren, sometimes in favor of the nonhumans. His grounds for doing so were narrow and of technical, legal reasoning. Some regarded these rogue decisions as a betrayal, while he considered these decisions to be consistent with the impartiality that he vowed from the outset. Though his brethren eventually came around, they spent many weeks all but spitting in his face. And still, he took all of it, with the steely calm and composure he was known for.

It is fitting, then, that he remains composed even now, as cultist worshippers of Dunghill Kunt hold his colleague, knocked unconscious and bound, right in front of him.

“You have moved too hastily, Suliazhi,” Robertson says, gesturing to his bound and unconscious colleague. “This was not part of the plan. We can’t undo this.”

“It is by Flintstone’s orders that we have taken her.” It was not a lie, but Flintstone did not specify what state she was in as long as she was incapacitated in some form. Suliazhi had taken it upon himself to use the situation to his advantage and dispose of her in a way that would be useful to him.

“Cliffside doesn’t know what we’re doing here,” Robertson says.

“What he knows and allows is none of our concern.”

“He is our Chancellor,” Robertson says coolly.

“Kunt is our Chancellor,” Suliazhi hisses back at him. “And we are continuing his work.”

“Clearly.”

The noble human side of this war had claimed Robertson before he even took his position as Chief Magistrate, he knew. He admits his inclinations fall in step with theirs more often than not. And yet there was something about these past few years, where he watched the human nobility and their followers reach beyond the limits of respectability and decorum with crazed hands to push down the nonhumans.

It was more the lack of respectability than anything that he found to be in poor taste. The means, the rhetoric, the brazen rush to an end that he also sought was a little too much for his liking. Smaller, more subtle steps over a longer period of time was the old way. The new way, the path that Kunt had forged and shown the humans was possible, was quicker but far, far messier.

Suliazhi, Robertson knew, did not seem to be afraid of making a mess.

“Grant me the small,” Suliazhi growled, gesturing to the bound body at his dwarven underlings’ feet. “She is already in our possession after clashing with our forces.”

“No.” Robertson did not know if Suliazhi was lying, if she had actually clashed with the Orange Guard or had simply been taken before she could fight back, but that didn’t matter now.

“Would it not be the ultimate slap in the face to the Resistance?” Suliazhi sneers. “One of their heroes, beloved for her mind, but all of her memories gone and devoured with a servant in our place? One of their heroes, beloved for her strength and tenacity, that very strength turned on its head to serve us instead of them?”

“She is old and frail.”

“She is POWERFUL.”

“That she is.” Robertson agrees. He has worked by her side for many years. She was even at her post at least a decade before he arrived and ascended to his position. He knew all too well the power she held, and they had both both clashed many times. “She is also old and frail,” he continues coolly. “Perhaps if you had taken her in her prime, you would have what you need. But you are many decades too late. Your efforts would kill her. Using her would be a waste.”

Such an argument has merit, which he knows Suliazhi knows grudgingly. But Suliazhi would not give any indication of such an admission. “Would killing her not be satisfying enough?” Suliazhi asks carefully with a sneer.

“Perhaps. It would also be foolish.” The city would doubtlessly rally behind her and go absolutely feral at the news of her being murdered in this war. In life, she was a hero. In martyrdom, she would be nothing short of a god.

They stare at each other for almost twenty seconds, letting Robertson’s last remark hang tensely between them in the otherwise silent room. He need not elaborate any further than what he has already said; Suliazhi knows he is right.

“We keep her here until we can find another in her place,” Suliazhi hisses angrily, finally. He turns to his underlings. “Take her to the Inner Sanctum.”

“But, my lord, the outer chambers—“

Another feral yell from Suliazhi is all it takes to get the four underlings moving again. Though they are small, the body they carry is similarly small and thus not as cumbersome of a load for the group. They scramble away, audibly sighing with relief as the door straight across from the antechamber entrance swings open.

Suliazhi and Robertson are left alone in the antechamber as the four disappear into the Inner Sanctum. They both face the door to the Inner Sanctum but do not lose sight of the other in their respective peripheries.

“You were once the mayor of the great city of Broadison,” Robertson comments dryly. “It’s funny, what the years can do to a man.”

“I am not a man. Not anymore,” Suliazhi says. “No, now, I am something much, much greater.”

#BoE #Huzhi Suliazhi #Jonathan Robertson

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thesergantpie · 5 years ago

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Have you ever like...Talked about Kaivan? His design reminds me of someone that would be the protagonist in their own video game or something, it’s super rad so kudos to you for that but also like...I want to know more. Bullet point headcanon text-post style (only if you don’t mind!)

HKJHGYGDF DO I MIND? BrUhhhH we in for a ride! LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT MY BEAUTIFUL BEAUTIFUL BLUEBERRY BOY

Kaivan is my d&d character that I made in 3 days (normally I have like a month to get down a character, so I was SCREAMING in panic) as such my main inspiration for him was Hellblade senua's sacrifice. A horror a game I was attempting to play at the time I wrote his backstory and made a lose character sketch of him.

The backstory I wrote: Kaivan’s first memory was waking up in a pile of corpses. He didn’t know how or why he was there; he couldn’t even remember his own name. In a daze he was able to crawl out of the pile just before hearing the sound of something coming his way. His vision was doubled and obscured by blood, but he was able to find a crevice just big enough for him to slip through to begin his escape. He didn’t know how long he stumbled and crawled through the cramped stone caves he awoke in, before finally reaching the outside world. He had little protection against the cold biting wind he found himself in. A dirty, tattered pair of pants along with most of a shirt and no shoes to speak of were all he had as he made his way down a icy muddy slope. He walked till his body finally couldn’t keep going anymore, and collapsed, his consciousness slipped away once more. When he came to once again, it was in a much more hospitable environment. Children from a nearby farm had found him and gotten help, bringing him back to their home. The human family that had found him were a little wary at first, (half dead drow showing up in the middle of the forest are not commonplace after all.) But after nearly a month and a half of helping the timid dark elf heal, they became endeared to him. They even gave him his name; Kaivan, since no mater how hard he tried he could not remember anything before the cave. He tried to go back once, the farmer coming with him to see if he could help, but try as they might they could not find the crevice. He lived with the farmers family for a few months, becoming a skilled hunter and even saving the farmers children from a pack of wolves once. It was simple living, but Kaivan like it; save for the nightmares. Sometimes he swore they were premonitions. He would have a dream about coming across a mutilated corpse of some kind, and wake only to find said ravaged body sometime through out his day. Only once did he get one of these visions during his waking hours; and that turned in to the worst day of his known life. He was out hunting when a vision hit him, a psychedelic witnessing to the absolute massacre of the family he had been staying with. Reeling form the vision and the pain it inflicted he rushed back to the farmstead, only to find what he feared. Grief stricken, Kaivan tried but could not track the creature that did this, which just furthered his self-loathing over the matter. He felt responsible for their fate, and vowed to himself to never let another suffer their fate.

So thats what he started the game with. Later after more visions, some with a great wolf taunting him that his new friends would be next and other dreams of a wolf promising him his memories back, he found out that the wizard Sorn probably had something to do with whatever was going on with him.

Turns out; Kaivan's family left the underdark city where the dark elves lived to escape the political climate. His mom, dad, sister his 2 brothers, his grandmother, his aunt and uncle and 2 family friends (who were there in their home so often they practically lived there) and when they came top side they ran in to Sorn, who was very friendly and promised to help them make a home if they would help him make his wizard tower. As they journeyed to wherever Sorn thought it best for them and his tower, they picked up 2 other people who also just wanted to live in peace, away from the other settlements. So with new friends they all set off to the place where they built for Sorn his Wizard tower! And then Sorn imprisoned all of them! To do nasty blood magic experiments to create the perfect werewolf hybrid! Turned out the two other people they picked up were a werewolf and another kind of wolf shapeshifter that isn't cursed and has full control over their abilities. They were very nice people that were also duped by Sorns false kindness.

Unfortunately nearly everyone died from the experimentation except for Kaivan and his older sister Octavia. The only thing that outwardly changed about them was their right eye turned black, making them look kinda possessed. The eye works just as normal, but just don't look right. O.o

Sorn also performed the experiment on himself after Kai and his sisters success in living, and basically made himself a living horror. While Kai and his sister can transform at will in to very big black wolves, Sorn looked more werewolfish and definitely more powerful.

Octavia and Kaivan broke free and Octavia fought Sorn, telling her younger brother to run while she held him off. Kai did run eventually, but in trying to escape he became victim to a small cave in, and was knocked out. And lost his memory.

His sister became imprisoned in a blood sacrifice altar, and was only able to be freed by Kaivan's blood when he followed the clues to his past to Sorns tower. The blood sacrifice was able to bring Kaivan's memory back as well as his sister, and Kaivan found out his real name - Quin'ur Xolravin.

It took Kaivan a long time to except the wolf in him, but the group he joined - his new weird family - helped him. Especially the monster hunter Martin, an old half-orc. Martin told Kaivan he had the choice as to whether or not he was a monster. Martin had complete confidence that Kai was not.

Kaivan did eventually catch Sorn and kill him, although without his sister(who wanted to be there with him when they caught him) and Kai did it in a rather brutal fashion over come with rage in his wolf form. It shook Kai up to see how easy it was to lose control, but another talk with his now sort-of-stand-in-dad Martin helped Kai.

ALSO shortly after gaining his memories, sister and wolf powers back, the group he was with were invited to a ball (they did alot of stuff for the kingdom just trying to make a buck) by none other then the elected Queen of the realm, Lady Deanora Vaylorin. Who showed him great kindness and patience, when many of the court including her own father despised his presence. (Deanora is a high elf, once upon a time, the high elves and the dark elves i.e. Kaivan's race were at war. The dark elves have stayed in the underdark since the war.)

Later after a bunch of baddies crashed the ball Deanora asked for help from Kaivan's group in helping secure crystals of great power to keep out of the Big Bad Guys hands. Its at this point Kai kinda started crushing on Deanora, she was beautiful, intelligent, wise and also very nice and genuinely sweet towards Kaivan and his nervous fumbling in social interactions. Kaivan tried to keep it to himself, thinking it was absolutely impossible for someone like him to even think about being with someone like her. But after a few interactions their affection for each other grew, and they eventually became lovers!

Thats pretty much where we are at in the game and Kaivan's life! I feel like there is more but my phones battery is low and this is already very long! But yeah, any time you want I will fan girl over my own character!

#dungeons and dragons #kaivan #drow #i love him so much

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dreadlock-detective · 6 years ago

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All of my 5th ed D&D characters together, by order of appearance: Adi the Paladin (Crimson Crow Campaign), Beatrice the Monk/Cleric, Cirilisa the Wizard, Dindelion the Sorceress, Elenor the Ranger/Wizard, and Adi the Cleric (Curse of Strahd Campaign) (yes that’s A B C D E, and then A again)

My characters tend to have rather large issues that would, if they were left on their own without their respective groups/getting caught up in the campaign, ensure they’d never actually succeed in their goals. As such I’ve really enjoyed distilling each of them down to a single word, an essence of what lays behind their entire psyches. And they’re all bad. Yes, even “Justice”, due to the circumstances~ Ramble about each of them after the cut~

Adi the Paladin (of the Crimson Crows) is a bit of a special case, the only one whose impediment to their success isn’t strictly speaking herself. The child of nobles who collected ancient artifacts, it is said one day they lost themselves to madness. Adi was taken in by her aunt and uncle who raised her the best she could, but as she grew they found she too was prone to bouts of madness and hysteria. One day, when the man they had hired to exercise whatever demons lay upon her mind was found upon the floor, the girl bloodying his face with her fists, she was deemed incurable and quietly shipped away to join a peace-keeping force of ex-criminals and other undesirables known as the Crimson Crows.

She always thought of herself as a hero - a warrior of good and bringer of justice. The problem lays in that she was, originally, a warlock/barbarian of a Great Old One (Nyarlathotep), which warped how she saw the world to fit how she saw herself. For example, if she killed someone, it’s because that person deserved to be killed - if not for the reasons she was attacking them, then for something else. A self proclaimed Hero of the People who’s powers came from something far more likely to destroy the world, manipulating her towards its goals.

She had a rather happy ending, though - some of the other PC’s betrayed her trust and managed to sever her connection to Nyarlathotep, afterward she became a Paladin and through the power of friendship (with a colony of Mind Flayers - its a weird story) she managed to become the hero she always thought she was, ending a war with minimal bloodshed and bringing down an ancient evil.

Beatrice the Monk/Cleric of Death The young Bea, in a desperate attempt to save her clan from a powerful and deceptive mage, ended up selling her soul to a litch, turning her into a pseudo-undead herself. As it turns out, her clan who hunted the undead as abominations and mislead by the mage didn’t take kindly to that story, and she joined the Crimson Crows instead of facing their wrath. Faced with the knowledge that she had become the thing she had sworn to destroy to save those that now cast her out, she lost hope that she could ever reclaim her soul and, even among her new family of misfits, feared they would abandon her as well.

Sadly, she never got an end to her story - she got switched out for Adi when the campaign Adi was originally in was abruptly abandoned. Later on her and her wizard friend (another PC who had left the game) who both were hunting that evil mage found themselves mind-controlled into helping him resurrect an ancient draco-litch. She was saved by Adi & co, but now was worse off than ever, having played a pivotal role in bringing back a terrible undead horror, no matter how unwillingly. If we ever play another campaign in that world, I’d love to give her a proper story.

Cirilisa the Wizard Oh precious Ciri, the littlest Drow~ When a rival house murdered her entire family she became a young murder hobo in the underdark, growing up sickly and frail. Eventually she attempted to get her revenge but only managed to steal and sell some artifact from the family, along with getting a massive scar across her midsection from a blast from the family’s matriarch. Somehow escaping to the surface, her unconscious body was found by scouts of the Crimson Crows, who brought her back to relative health and gave her a new home, where she eventually set herself on becoming a moderately accomplished wizard. Her loss in childhood had deadened her already drow heart, but living among the surface world she saw so many people with so many emotions. She didn’t understand them, but she secretly coveted what they had.

I had planned that she would start to fall in love with the first PC that went out of their way to protect or help her from a serious problem - a plan that was designed to end poorly. The three candidates were a loner dwarf who didn’t want anything to do with anyone else, a were-bear orc who was 100% gay, and a minotaur who was already in a committed relationship. But even though the feelings wouldn’t be returned, she would FEEL things and grow as a character... well...

I didn’t expect that character (the orc) to protect her from drow assassins who nearly managed to kill her... and then THE NEXT NIGHT sacrifice his soul to a revenant of a man he had killed to protect the party. Before Ciri even had a chance to start acknowledging or understanding what she was feeling the object of her affections was dead and buried along the roadside. Instead of love, she grew bitter and angry, desperate to find a way to save the orc’s soul, all without really knowing why. She died before she could - her heart ripped from her chest by a wraith of vampiric spirits in a climatic boss battle. But that group’s leader, a PC vampire named Walter, destroyed the wraith, took it’s title and powers as Blood Lord, and raised her as a vampire. She’s still a ball of piss and vinegar, but she’s in a way found herself in a new family, charging herself with constantly keeping the Blood Lord in check and making sure he never gets too full of himself.

Dindelion the Sorceress If you don’t know about Dindel you haven’t been following me long. A homeless vagabond who hides her natural born ability to heal others for fear it would be exploited, she’s internalized many negative things about herself and rarely trusts herself to make decisions that won’t end in disaster. Add in a mother that disappeared when she was young, a drunkard gambler of a father, and a city decades in decline full of poverty and abuse by those in power and she’s got more than a few trust issues for other folks as well. She also has absolutely no idea how a healthy relationship is supposed to work, and a head full of stories and romance that have absolutely not lined up with her experiences since the campaign started.

Her father, the only constant in her life and the other half of a fairly unhealthy co-dependent relationship, got taken away by essentially the mob for not paying debts and it’s up to her to find some way to pay it off. To her great luck, she ran in to the wandering soldier Vale who, apparently wanting to make up for past sins, agrees to take her along to join a new venture he heard about, leading to the campaign proper. She was actually specifically designed to have too many trust issues to actually get in a relationship with anyone, but between how Vale cares for her and how absolutely shitty she’s found the outside world to be, those issues have actually mutated into something new as their romance has grown. Its... not any healthier a mental state though. I’m excited to see where it goes!

Elenor the Ranger/Wizard Elena was once a promising apprentice wizard, learning the weave with 4 other students. Always feeling a step above the others and not content with how slowly their teacher was progressing them, she devised a plan to work with the others to impress their teacher - to show her they were ready for bigger things. They were going to summon a creature from the planes of hell! Specifically, a Lemure, a relatively harmless blob of a twisted soul. An impressive feat and without much risk from the creature being summoned. Definitely within the capability of someone as great as her.

As sharp chains lashed out from the summoning circle her left arm was torn away. A great beast emerged, tossing her across the room. As she looked up she saw her rival, a young man named Osvaldo, brandishing an axe, standing over her, and looking quite pleased with himself. And the axe came down.

She would come to in a crypt standing near a coffin bearing the family crest of Osvaldo. Her body stiff and her mind cloudy, she slowly realized she had not survived that night at all - she was now a reanimated corpse, but had somehow regained her sense of self. She also found the nearby townspeople did not care enough to distinguish between mindless undead and herself. Eventually she found the place she had once studied - destroyed, some time ago it seems, by that night’s events. Lost and adrift, the life she once knew was over, even her memories were fragmented, but she would forever remember the names of the four who had done this. Osvaldo had convinced them to change the ritual - to summon that creature, and to use it to kill her. She was certain of it. And that hatred kept her going as years of nothingness passed her by. One day she was hired by a tunnel elf, a professed seeker of knowledge, as a guide through the wilderness and though she could not stand him they soon encountered others, mostly strange folk - a tabaxi, a triton, and a snake-like dragonborn in particular - and she stuck around to entertain herself.

Little did she know they were about to be pulled into saving the world from consumption by a forgotten and terrible deity. She thinks their chances aren’t even worth mentioning, but still she cannot allow existence to end before she has wrought what vengeance she can on those that wronged her, and so she will fight with everything she has to keep the world going.

Adi the Cleric of Nyarlathotep As Adi of the Crimson Crows discovered as she worked with the mind flayers, she was not the only Adi. Not even close. Hers was a soul connected to a power outside of time and space and finds itself drawn into worlds over and over, each incarnation as much the same as they are different. Perhaps the Crawling Chaos did not want to repeat what had happened before, maybe it was just twisted curiosity, but this iteration of the girl was born through his direct influence, raised in a town he had visited and driven mad. She was his disciple, and she would spread his teachings across the land.

Through a series of misunderstandings she has found herself in the land of Ravenloft, under the watchful eyes of the vampire Strahd, and in this land she came upon a terrible, bewitched house. A house with paintings of the owners and of a woman bearing a striking resemblance to her. A house where the ghostly children said their littlest sister was named Adi. The child had died in infancy, sacrificed in some dark ritual by its father.

And down in the depths of that place Adi found it was the truth. And there, along the alter, sat a book bound in human skin that called to her. A book of rituals devoted to her god, the Faceless Father. And there, upon the alter, she left the corpse of one of those who had traveled with her, who had brought her there.

She isn’t certain why the Faceless Father has guided her to this land, but she will carry out his will or die trying, though all things considered, perhaps the world would be better off with her in the ground, the cult’s voice silenced

#Dungeons and Dragons #D&D #Dnd #5e #characters #Adi #Beatrice #Ciri #Cirilisa #Dindel #Elena #Paladin #Monk #Cleric #Wizard #Sorcerer #Ranger #dreadlock detective

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adventuresloane · 6 years ago

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Lup, Raven Queen, Barry, Ango and totally Ren. ;) maybe sloane also! For the HC meme❤️

(for this meme)

Kat this is……SO many oh my lord. I’m gonna put most of theseunder a cut!!! You’re a doll tho thanksfor all the asks.

Lup:

A) What I think realistically: I love the idea that,contrary to popular belief, she’s the younger twin! When they were kids, Taakowould always be the one who had to get her out of the trouble she got herselfinto. Taako’s always been a bit more pragmatic, but Lup just couldn’t standdisrespect towards her or her brother and would always address it. She stood upto people and probably bit off more than she could chew a number of times,meaning Taako had to help her out of a tight spot.

B) What is fucking hilarious to me: Lup at one point had apretty major crisis in her life because she loves to cook for people anddesperately wanted to show her affection for Barry by cooking for him, but.This man has lived off late-night hot pockets out of his laboratory microwavefor years. He doesn’t have a palette. One time she overheard him call ketchupspicy and she just kind of stared at the wall for five minutes. She spent manyan evening slaving over recipe books to try to find SOMETHING decent that thisuncultured man would actually enjoy.

C) What is heart-crushing and awful but fun to inflict onfriends: She’s got…a number of lingering issues after her release from theumbrella. There’s a lot of talk about how she develops claustrophobia, andwhile I think that’s certainly true, I think another thing that leaves hershaken is the utter darkness inside the staff. Before she was able to get herpowers back to create fire, the darkness in there must have been absolute andchilling. Imagine how long she lay there entirely blind and unable to make outanything. I don’t think she can sleep with the lights off anymore. She alwaysat least leaves the hall light on outside the bedroom, but even that’s notenough much of the time, and she often plays with a little fireball in herhands until she can’t keep her eyes open anymore, so that she knows there’sstill light where she is.

D) What would never work with canon but the canon is shit soI believe it anyway: Griffin says that the Legato performance was the firsttime the rest of the IPRE crew realized that Barry and Lup were in love butcome the fuck on. These guys??? They’re so incredibly obvious and crazy foreach other. Even if they didn’t tell their family explicitly EVERYONE knew forYEARS.

Raven Queen

A) Every raven in Faerun is at her beck and call. The birdshave a bit of magic to them inherently and find it easy to slip from plane toplane. She’ll dispatch them to carry messages or keep an eye on things for herand report back. She VERY rarely comes to the mortal planes, but you can alwaystell when she’s on her way. Thousands of ravens circle together tightly in thesky, their iridescent wings shining, and from the almost blinding andotherworldly shimmer a portal forms through which she comes.

B) Has motherly instincts towards Kravitz but no concept ofwhat being a parent to a former mortal actually entails. At what age does onestop picking up mortal children? 35? Her idea of mother-son bonding is enactinga blood oath. She’s trying her best.

C) Kravitz became her “ward” of sorts when he begged andprayed to her for months on end to spare his sick mother and take his lifeinstead—he made a brave trade and she respected him for it, hence his positionas a reaper.

D) She grants Magnus a “limited” amount of extra time livinghappily with Julia in the afterlife but honestly do you think she’ll ever makethem stop living in that little cabin? Heck, do you really think she’s going tokeep their friends from leaving the sea of souls to visit them whenever???She’s willing to turn a blind eye to their little party for the rest ofeternity.

Barry

A) He is just……so visibly huggable tbh. You look at him andyou’re like, “That’s a man who’d be good to just hug for a little while. Chubbysoft belly. Just a teddy bear of a man.

B) The boy is a classic academic research scientist, whichis to say a damn mess. He’ll periodically crop his hair short but then won’tbother to get it cut again for months on end because he’s too busy, so it growsout all wild and looks a mess. He has one (1) mug he keeps on his desk and likenever washes because it’s always filled with coffee anyway. Shows up to work ina stained T-shirt because it’s not like anyone’s paying attention to him whenhe’s locked up in his lab all day anyway. Grody science man.

C) Next to Taako, he’s the one who takes the longest toforgive Lucretia, and I sort of think he never completely gets over what shedid. Unlike everyone else in the IPRE crew, he was deliberately isolated fromthe rest of his family AND HE WAS AWARE OF IT. That’s fucked up, and he learnedto hate Lucretia for awhile, and that’s not the kind of thing that can beerased as soon as Story & Song is over. He can barely look her in the eyefor awhile.

D) He does NOT have a mullet do not to my boy dirty likethis.

Angus

A) All this debate over Magnus or Taako or Lucretia orwhoever the fuck adopts Angus post-S&S? Screw that noise. It’s not like anyof the adult figures in his life AREN’T walking disasters as individuals—it’sonly together that they’re sort of capable of functioning. That’s why he haslike twenty parents and splits his time between like five different houses,inside each of which he has his own room and where he is welcome at all hoursof the day and night. That kid is living the dream.

B) Absolutely drops f-bombs on purpose knowing that it willscandalize the adults he talks to. This boy is a delight and has never doneanything wrong but he is NOT the innocent little one everyone thinks! Sneakyboy!

C) Gotta be honest, I don’t have the heart to actuallyimagine Angus having any suffering inflicted upon him, BUT I do like the ideaof Taako being lowkey terrified every time he goes off on his own/tries toconduct an investigation that has a chance of being dangerous. He tries not toshow it and definitely plays it cool when Angus comes back safe every time, buthe’s got so very few people he feels really connected to and he doesn’t want tolose one of them (again).

D) Controversial, but he remains a shrimpy nerdboy foreverand does not get to be buffer than Magnus sorry.

Ren

A) Hot take: she’s a soft butch. My evidence? I know a bunchof butches named Ren and also she just gives off those Lesbian Vibes. Butch Ren2k19.

B) She is…small. Just so short, even by the standards ofelves, which are on average smaller than humans. It might be partly because she’sa Drow, since I personally headcanon that they don’t grow quite as big, buteven then she’s just. A little creacher. She has to use a spoon to knock downthings from shelves that everyone else in the tavern can easily reach. Cassidyjokingly uses her head as an armrest.

C) Her family is definitely still around and definitely wereoutside of Refuge when the barrier was created around the town and they justhad no way whatsoever of contacting her. They aged while time didn’t touch her.

D) This is more in opposition to D&D lore than to theTAZ canon, but I personally don’t like to think that Ren ever faced anyprejudice for being a dark elf. The whole idea of the Drow being cursed and 99%of them being evil is, imo, very tired (not to mention racist), so I just don’twant that being a part of her story. I think maybe Underdark elves have a bitof a reputation in the surface realms for being kind of staid and dour, so inthat way Ren defies some conventions by being her bubbly self. But aside fromthat, she never had an issue with anyone thinking less of her or hating her forbeing a Drow.

And fuck it, I know I did Sloane already but I have gothbirb headcanons coming out of my ass so I’ll do her again.

A) Tbh I like to think that her alias is something she put alot of thought into and something she identifies really strongly with. Like,ravens are obviously just objectively cool and fit the goth aesthetic she’sgoing for, but also I think growing up in Goldcliff (which I picture as beingjust like the American Southwest) she had a lot of experience observing themand felt kind of a kinship with them (and probably fed them to get them tofollow her around tbh). In some folklore, ravens are considered shapeshifterson account of how the sun reflects off their wings and makes them look likethey’re changing shape. I think that by assuming the persona of the Raven, shebecomes something more than what she appears to be, and it’s a bit of escapismfor her. (Also, ravens are known to be family-oriented and mate for life sothat proves fitting later on…)

B) It kinda breaks my heart whenever people draw her (orhalf-elves in general) with shorter/smaller ears than full-blooded elves,because in my head hers are long and twitchy! She’s pretty good at hiding howshe feels and not giving away too much with her body language, so her ears don’tnecessarily move around a ton to express how she’s feeling, but they doinvoluntarily react to sound, e.g. perking up when she hears a sudden noise.Hurley finds this adorable and exploits it to no end—like snapping her fingersnext to one of Sloane’s ears and then the other to make them pique alternatelyuntil Sloane finally gets fed up.

C) This is kind of more of a headcanon for half-elves ingeneral, but I remember seeing a post awhile back that said something along thelines of “D&D cryptid: a half-elf with a good relationship with theirfamily.” It was funny, but it did get me thinking: what’s a good narrativejustification for this? One of the answers, I think, is that half-elves grow ata rate that must be completely bewildering for their elven parents. They reachmaturity at around 20, compared to a full-blooded elf becoming an adult ataround 100. There’s probably a lot of potential for friction there as elvenparents are unable to handle or understand their kids as they mature soquickly. Plus, most half-elves don’t outlive their elf parents, and knowing you’remore than likely going to bury your kid one day has got to be hard. I think allof this was sort of the situation for Sloane growing up, and it was the sourceof a lot of the isolation she felt as a child.

D) She has big biker energy and actually prefers motorcyclesto battlewagons and that’s the tea.

LAWD this was a lot. Hope you like them!!!

#i typed this in a word doc initially and it was almost 2000 words fsdkjbvkgbdlj #starlight seeker #ask meme #headcanons #lup #barry bluejeans #angus #ren #raven queen #sloane #blupjeans #taz #taz balance #the adventure zone #my txt

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sorcerous-caress · 1 year ago

Note

Sending this all in one ask even though it's technically four different things, hope that's alright-

1. Ik it's small and just in the tags but the Sol response for the soulmates post is so 💞

2. I really liked the writing in your Yurgir post, just thought it was really neat and I liked your wordings (I could not come up with a better way to word this, though- my bad). Let him protect Tav!! Even though he's also completely wrecking them <3

3. I agree really hard on the backgrounds giving dialog options. It really feels like it should be a thing- I think maybe all background affects dialog wise, is whether or not your character gets the Baldurian tag..? But that might just be a race thing (in which you'd either get Baldurian or Underdark. Or... Nothing for githyanki? Unless they have the Planar tag? Idk)

I may not be able to have the option in game, but in my mind's eye my noble Tav introduced themselves proudly with their full name, and Astarion immediately poked fun at them for how much of a mess their family is known to be. Them most likely recognizing Wyll as the Ravengard son and assuming he'd know of them as well but he straight up doesn't. Beautiful stuff

-Tressym anon

Thank you for taking the time to write this! Love hearing your thoughts <3

1 - You read it!! I didn't think anyone would notice, I'm so happy. I really want to add them to the several characters mini-lists I make but I always hesitate because since the post will leave my blog tags, I don't want it to feel like I'm forcing my OC into the fandom main media?

So I just leave it in the tags for my readers to hopefully find, since only you guys know about Sol and will see the OG post while most people will see reblogs of reblogs without my tags.

It's like, while Halsin embraces fate and has faith in it, Sol and Minthara do not. They realise how incredibly lucky they are to have met you. Sol condems fate for being so pitiful, how easily they'd have never met you and just spent their life hiding their true self and following their family.

While Minthara fears fate, she knows she would've killed you under any other circumstances. She dreads the idea of never waking up from her brainwashing, be it from Lolth or the Absolute.

2 - I'm glad to hear you liked it! I can't stress how I will never get tired of hearing this or how these comments never get redundant to me. Honestly, I'm having a really bad day rn but still pushed out a fic bc I felt like it's been a while, it makes me feel appreciated when people tell me they liked anything about my works. So thank you again from the deepest of my heart.

3- omfg, the Astarion idea is gold. He would totally have gossip on most noble families since he spent so much time in the upper city. You'd be announce yourself and titles so proudly and he'd be like "didn't your cousin runaway with that barmaid and leave his wife and three kids behind?"

Or playful banter with Wyll since he came from nobility originally, the two of your characters could've seen each other as kids or something before the whole Mizora thing and he'd be like "wait...I remember you! You're that kid who stole my piece of cake during my birthday party"

Also imagine insulting Gortash during his coronation with a noble background, basically calling hime fake nobility and how he doesn't know the first thing about rulling or etiquette.

Maybe when you come back to the city, you already have an account made in the bank and don't need to start another? Maybe you get pickpocketed quite often because you "look rich" and if you sleep at any camp besides the elfsong tavern, you remain restless and don't heal to full.

Being an obnoxious noble sounds way too fun. A spoiled rich person who has to trudge around in the mud in the underdark and complain about their silk clothes getting absolutely ruined while the party snicker behind you.

Imagine teaching Lae'zel and Shadowheart how to slow dance <3 or taking Karlach to a very fancy restaurant reservation during her date in act 3!

#♡Noble tav #♡tressym anon

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royvdhelart · 6 years ago

Photo

So...as I've been sick for the last week, I kind of needed something to cheer me up a bit and something to get the Art-passion flowing again. So, I decided to finally redo Emil's reference sheet, as I never liked the old one, after designing him a new outfit <3

This was a bunch of work but boy, I can not recall having this much fun with a drawing and I'm actually hella proud of it for once :D I hope you like it as well!

--- Just to be clear btw: This Art is NOT for free use. ---

Callname: Emil/Baltazar Full-Name: Baltazar Emil A'zam Duman Jaren Qazir Languages: Common, Dwarfish (future: draconic)

Age: 26, born on the first day of June Sex/Gender: Male Height: 1,95m/6'4 Race: Human Class: (Lore) Bard (level 9) (future: Draconic sorcerer)

Background: Entertainer/Noble Sexuality: Bi-Romantic

Favorite Instrument: Violin. Alignment/Personality: Neutral Good, optimistic, Drama Queen, charismatic, polite, group-mom, party-guy, curious, creative. Flaws: Drama Queen, has a big mouth and turns into an awkward/clumsy dork when he has a crush on someone. More about his family: https://sta.sh/014wc8gu8y2p Background: Baltazar was born on the first day of June in the city Setus. He was the 7th and youngest son of a wealthy merchant family, having 4 brothers ( (35) Amin, (33)Kareem, (30)Jarah, (27)Gabriel, and ( and 2 sisters (Farah (31) and Iris (35) above him. Baltazar had always been the "runt of the litter". Tall but lanky, Emil wasn't strong, and always out searching for trouble. This often caused him to clash with his parents, who really wished Emil would become more serious instead of going on about silly adventures and hanging around in inn's every night. Actually just fearing for his well-being.

As a proper noblemen's son Baltazar was learned etiquette from a young age, getting schooled by a wise old teacher (Nazim), who had years of experience teaching his older brothers and sisters. Emil wasn't the best student however and caused quite the frustration to his teacher. He skipped classes, pulled tricks on his teacher and rarely did the work he was expected to or find some kind of way to do his tasks with the least effort possible. Emil was much too busy learning plays out of his head, creating new songs or just dreaming about what it would be like to be actually free, to travel the lands, slay monsters, be a hero, to do such boring and repetitive tasks. It didn't matter anyway, he was the youngest, he would one day be married of to a rich woman/man and that would be it. He often worried about this future, a future, which in his opinion, could only become boring. The moments he spent on stage, telling people silly stories when he played his violin, were the moments he actually felt alive, at those moments he could feel a kind of power flowing through him, which could vaguely be described as a warmth but different. To him, it seemed that all that they wanted to do is take that from him, make him "more serious" as he would never honor his family's name as a simple entertainer. One day Emil had pushed his parents too far, he missed his teacher's lessons again and had a big fight with his father. All Emil's frustration and fear for the future came out at that point. Which ended with Emil, angerly saying that he was going to leave the city and that he would prove them that he would become worth something, he would become a great entertainer, a Hero even, his name would become known! With that, he packed his stuff and left the next morning. Quite quickly Emil found out that traveling was definitely not as easy or fun as he expected and regretted his decision quite quickly as he started to run out of gold, the city Setus was mostly surrounded by desert and small villages, where there was no way for him to make any profit. After traveling for days, he decided that he really wasn't ready to cross an entire dessert after having a nasty run-in with Goblins. He finally reached a cross point between three larger cities. He decided to travel between the cities, to try out work as an entertainer to earn some gold. For a few years, he played music at inns, took on small roles in plays and did some odd jobs to earn some extra gold. In these years he discovered the kind of power within himself again, a power which he studied and could control more and more each day as he got mentored by another bard called "Rafael". Who saw potential in him. Eventually, he learned how to control magic with his voice, movements, and music. Even though he enjoyed entertaining, with his new found powers and being able to do whatever he wanted, he realized he became somewhat stuck there, unable to grow, he was running out of ideas for songs or tales. But what was he supposed to do? He couldn't go back home and wasn't confident enough of his abilities yet to go on actual adventures alone, as he and Rafael split up after a year, his powers seemed mostly passive, supporting at most. Contemplating his options, he almost stumbled over a black panther which seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. He looked back at the table which the large black cat was laying against, sitting around it he saw what could only be described as a perfect example of a knight in shining armor drinking a large pint of... milk? and a younger somewhat odd hooded figure, bright red with a large bird emblem depicted on his back in gold. Emil was immediately intrigued by the curious figures, decided to buy them a round and started talking to them. The knight was apparently the Paladin called Adil Fahd, somewhat of a folk hero, who he actually recognized by name as he had heard it before. The hooded young man was called Yashan, a Phoenix sorcerer from far away, this apparently meant he knew a lot about setting things and himself... on fire, he was apparently on a holy mission to find a religious artifact called the Sun-Stone. He spends the rest of the evening talking with the adventurers and eventually convinced them to let them join their group. A few months later, they met their newest members to the party "Kakaah" a odd but smart Kenku Rogue and a sassy Fighter called Ustrom and with the party complete they would face many adventures, from fighting as gladiators in the area of a savage dwarf Island, to Dyeing Ogers hair to get out of trouble, surviving many of Adil's bad ideas, dangerous sea-trips, a trip to the Underdark, meeting the Evil beholder called Kazejux, retrieving priceless artifacts, fighting a Demon called Kalahai who is wanting to take over the world... and many more and many more more to come. Extra/Random Facts about Emil: - Emil is a very charismatic and likes to flirt but is absolutely terrified of sex because of a mix of bad/silly experience and anxiety. He gets nervous about the subject and panics as soon as things become too hot and heavy. - Emil has a huge weakness for smart and dorky, guys/girls <3 - He learned the tips and tricks about being a Bard from a Bard called Rafael, with whom he has a somewhat competitive-love/hate friend-relationship as their friendship got a little complicated at the end of their showbusiness-partnership. Rafael is a stereotypical bard, very charismatic, party-animal and somewhat of a nymphomaniac. - Emil used to own a tiger when he was younger, who he shared with his brother Gabriel, which is supposed to be depicted on his bracers. Gabriel, after being reunited with Emil again 3 years after Emil left home, decided to also engrave his name into the bracers, in a way, so he'd be with him on his adventures. -Emil grew up with two mothers and a father, his biological mother is called Anjah, she is smart, smoll and scary, his second mother is called Dolunay, Cool, collected and wise, and his father's name is Azam who is intimidating but too sweet for his own good. His parents are in a Poly-romantic relationship and don't appreciate the "He is rich so he has more than one wife"-talk/ habit, the relationship is shared between all of them and they all love each other equally.

- Aside from the strings, his Violin is made out of Wood, Gold, and Ivory. It's called "Yarro" and is named after the Yarrow Plant. - He was thought to shoot his crossbow by his older brother Amin, who is good at handling most weapons known to that region, and an avid collector. Currently, Baltazar owns a magic Heavy Crossbow which is able to cast the spell "Tenser's transformation". - Emil is familiar with wearing drag or being scarcely clothed on stage as he used to be a part of a show in an "Entertainers-bar" for about a year. His drag is now one of his costumes next to his dessert robes... this job wasn't one of his favorites... but it was where Rafael discovered him, which would change his life forever. (He is dangerous with a pair of heels.) - Emil recently acquired a sentient cape, called Thanatos, a cured copper dragon with a ton of attitude. He allows Baltazar to Fly, be resistant to fire and look very extra. - His feather ear-ring is supposed to resemble a phoenix feather, however, he has no clue if it's real, as he bought it on a market from a somewhat sketchy guy. - Emil lost his finger for a while after using a magic artifact to save his ass... (Future: luckily he was able to get it back!) - Emil has a birthmark on his left hip. - (When compared to the real world) Emil would have a combination of Arabic/Indian/maybe a bit of Egyptic heritage. - Emil Knows gods exist but isn't necessarily a follower of any. More Baltazar: - https://romyvdhel-art.deviantart.com/art/OC-Spectrum-Meme-DnD-Characters-724820026 - https://romyvdhel-art.deviantart.com/art/DND-Reference-Baltazar-Emil-Qazir-707607613 - https://romyvdhel-art.deviantart.com/art/DnD-Sketchdump-VIII-717548901

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secretlystephaniebrown · 7 years ago

Text

Letters to No One: 6/6

Summary: Lucretia writes letters that she can never send over the years.

Final chapter! Wow this ended up being longer than I expected.

For Taako, we're mixing things up a bit, but I hope you guys still enjoy! Thanks for reading, and double thanks to everyone who's taken the time to leave a comment while I've been writing this! <3

Beginning

Also on Ao3

Taako sees Lup going through some letters one day, when she and Barold are visiting. He wanders over and grabs one randomly off the pile. He recognizes the gentle curves of the handwriting easily, and sees red.

Taako, like all of them, had taken turns filling in for Lucretia on the cycles when she’d died. He’d filled in his parts of the journals, picking up where her handwriting had left off. After a hundred years of that handwriting, he could recognize it anywhere. (He’d seen letters from the Director and hadn’t thought a thing, because she wasn’t anyone important.)

“Why is she writing to you?” He demands. Lup snatches it back before he can rip the letter into tiny pieces, like he wants to.

“She did it while I was gone.” Lup picks up another one, keeping a careful eye on him, as if making sure that he doesn’t take a fireball to the table. It’s tempting, he has to admit, but he wouldn’t do it, because she’s the one who can spell shape, not him, and he’d never hurt Lup. “It’s… enlightening.”

Taako fumes. He fumes even more when he sees Barry has his own stack of letters, annotated in red ink, stacked neatly on the desk in the house that Taako has been sharing with the Reapers Three whenever they’re not out in the Astral Plane.

“I think they helped her,” Magnus says when Taako goes to visit him to rant about it. His letters are scattered across his kitchen table, weird carvings weighing them down like paperweights. He’s holding one of them in his hand, looking at it strangely. “Talking to us.”

“Whose fault is it that she couldn’t?” Taako snaps. He doesn’t get it, how they’ve all forgiven her. As if it wasn’t her fault. Sure, they don’t hate her, he understands that, because yeah, okay, maybe he doesn’t hate her anymore. But there’s a difference between not hating and forgiveness and he doesn’t understand how it is that they’ve managed to find it.

Magnus shrugs. “Hers. She knows it. But she still missed us.”

“She doesn’t deserve too!” Taako throws his hands into the air. “We didn’t get to miss her. We didn’t even bet to miss each other!”

Magnus shrugs again.

Merle just pours him a cup of tea. Outside, the sea crashes against the beach. The kids, the kids who are only just learning to call him “Uncle Taako,” even though they should have been doing it their whole lives, are playing on the shore. “I dunno, I thought they were interesting.”

Taako calls Davenport on his Stone of Farspeech that night, because if anyone could understand, it would be him.

“It’s just what she does, Taako. You cook, Magnus carves, she writes. It’s… comforting.” Davenport is in some far away place, exploring the world. Taako has a postcard from him in his pocket, describing the kind of spiced tea that a port town specializes in. He’s seen postcards pinned to Magnus’ walls and Merle’s, and read Lup and Barry’s out loud to Kravitz.

He wonders if Lucretia gets postcards. He wonders if she keeps them in a scrapbook or something—it’s been over a decade, maybe she picked up scrapbooking.

“Well, why didn’t she write to me then?”

The words surprise him, so he hangs up before Davenport can respond.

He turns that thought over and over in his head, trying to understand it. He doesn’t care what she thinks of him. He doesn’t care that she didn’t try to offer him an explanation, not like the way that she’s offered everybody else.

Some small, rational part of himself that sounds weirdly like Merle, points out that he’s been avoiding Lucretia.

To spite that particular part of himself, he makes sure to kick a fucking tree and tell Mavis and Mookie an embarrassing story about their dad which he definitely embellishes a little. It’s kind of hard to horrify a couple of kids who know that their dad has died a shit ton of times and are aware of his proclivities towards plants because Lucretia’s journals got broadcasted right into their brains, but Taako has never let a little thing like that stop him.

He decides to take matters into his own hands, because talking to Lucretia about his feelings is absolutely overrated, no matter what Kravitz says.

He breaks into the new Bureau of Balance headquarters, which is much easier now that it’s not on the moon, and raids her office, pointedly ignoring the portrait of all of them hanging on the wall. It’s fully restored and he hates how happy they look. Because they were young and stupid and didn’t realize how everything was going to go to shit and it’s not fair.

“Taako? What are you doing?”

Lucretia looks better, he has to admit, now that the Hunger is passed. She’s not younger by any stretch of the word, but she looks less tired, less wary. The dark circles under her eyes which he had for over a year dismissed as nothing have faded away. She’s letting her hair grow too. Not as long as it ever got on the Starblaster, but it’s no longer cropped short like it was when he’d met her once again for the first time.

He scowls and turns to face her, faking a grin that he knows she’ll see right through. “Hear you’ve been writing letters. Wanted to see what you’ve got to say for yourself.” There’s an unspoken challenge there, and they both know it.

Her faces goes blank. “Bottom left drawer,” she says. She waves a hand, and some sort of magical protection dispels.

It’s a lot of paper, all covered in thousands of lines of that same, careful handwriting. They’re tied together with a neon pink ribbon.

Lucretia stands there, leaning against an ordinary staff, and she looks older once again. The world seems to be resting on her shoulders, and Taako should care, but he doesn’t, he doesn’t, because she doesn’t deserve his pity.

Taako storms out, with the letters under his arm and goes to the school.

Taako,

“Sizzle It Up with Taako” is a bomb-ass banger of a show. I went in disguise and sat in the back, just in case. Your act was inspired. It was great to see you back in the kitchen, and the bits I got to taste were magnificent.

You seemed perfectly at home in the kitchen, which was great to see.

I wonder though…

Do you ever notice that the van is large enough for three? My plan was for you and Lup to be a double-act, with Barry as your driver. That might be a bit cruel to Barry, yes, to be relegated to that role, but he and Lup would be near each other. I have no doubt that the two of them would have fallen in love again. How could they not? A century of love can’t just be erased. It’s part of why I separated the rest of you. But at least the three of you would be together. He’d have sent in an application for the University in Neverwinter, so he’d at least have that option, but… I doubt he’d have left Lup.

But even without them, you seem at home there, using alchemy in the kitchen, all flashy and bright. You shine like a sun, in that place. I’m so glad, Taako.

-L

It’s not the first letter, but it’s the first one that matters. Taako throws it down and tries to think back to his caravan, thinks about Sazed, who he’d hired, not Lucretia, and he tries to think.

Lup and him both in the caravan, elbows brushing against each other in a space not quite large enough but not caring, because it’s each other. Cooking and laughing, using magic and flare and showmanship in their creations, travelling and never stopping in one place for too long.

Barry, with them, awkward and hesitant like he’d been before he’d known them, slowly getting talked into magical conversations, being a bit of a nerd, flirting with Lup, slowly, painfully slowly, falling in love in the most ridiculous way possible.

Taako shoves the thoughts aside, because it had never happened. Instead, Barry plunged off the Starblaster, killed by Taako, and Lup had been stuck in an umbrella for a decade, while Taako had been alone in that caravan.

He’d been alone and he shouldn’t have been, and Lucretia knew that.

Taako,

I hear you’re a hit in the Underdark. Of course you are. I hope you’re enjoying your newfound celebrity.

There’s still no word on Lup. I’m looking, Taako, I promise, and the moment I find her I will bring her back to you.

-L

Seeing Lup’s name written in Lucretia’s careful handwriting is more painful than Taako had thought it would be.

He should be mad, he thinks, about Lucretia spying on him. Keeping an eye on him, like she cares.

He’s not though. He just grabs the next letter and keeps reading. He’s not sure why he’s even reading them, because it’s not like they’re going to change anything. He knows what she’s done. Her feeling sad about it doesn’t matter.

Her loneliness does not undo his own.

Taako,

I’ve heard about

I can’t believe

You’d never

Glamor Springs was a

When I first heard about Glamor Springs, I sent someone to investigate what had happened. I… I can’t quite believe that it’s actually happened. I know it was not intentional—you’re many things Taako, but I know you’d never kill with your cooking. But an accident… it just seems so unlike you that I can’t wrap my head around it.

You’re a wanted elf now. I can almost hear the jokes we would have made about it once, but it was always different, when we’d known that they’d never see us again after the end of the year. You might be running for the rest of your life.

I considered writing up a version of events and feeding it to the Voidfish. I could give you a fresh start, let you begin from scratch.

But…

The only reason I could do it so effectively the first time was that I knew the material so well. My journals were the story of our adventures—your anecdotes about the mongoose language were there, Lup’s doodles were in the margins, there are entire sections written in Magnus’s handwriting because he didn’t believe I was doing the story justice. Even your history before our adventure, I knew well enough to be able to edit around, because we’d had a hundred years to get to know each other. I knew every detail. I knew what I was doing, and I could handle it all with immaculate care.

I don’t know what happened to you, those years wandering Faerun as a wandering chef. I have broad strokes, but with work like this, I’m terrified of what would happen if I slipped up. If I’m too ruthless, someone else could end up like Davenport. If I’m too sparring, you could end up being wanted but not know why.

As much as it pains me to admit it Taako… you’re a stranger to me now.

And I can’t afford to spare the resources that it would take to learn your story well enough to do that.

I’m sorry Taako. I really am. I just wanted you to be happy.

-L

Taako stops reading, after the letter about Glamour Springs. He gets up and shoves them in a desk he never uses, because he doesn’t need a desk, he mostly just have one because Magnus carved it for him and it looks pretty fucking sweet, and then he goes into the kitchen and makes all of Lucretia’s favorite dishes out of spite and then he feeds them to the Bone Squad, ignoring Lup and Barry’s looks.

Lup finds the letters that night. “So you went to see her?”

“Yeah,” Taako says.

“Did you two… talk?”

Taako throws himself onto the couch—not the comfy sofa thing that Barry bought and won’t let him get rid of, but the proper couch, the one that’s for fainting and dramatic flinging.

“No,” he says, once he’s in proper position.

Lup drops the letters on his face, because she’s a terrible sister like that.

“Read them,” she says unsympathetically. “I know it’s hard. But I think it will help.”

“Help what?” Taako wants to say.

But Lup asked him too, so he keeps reading.

Taako,

When I heard you had found Merle and Magnus I laughed until I cried. Avi thought I had lost my mind.

I’m so glad you’ve found them again.

-L

“Yeah, well, whose fault is it that I didn’t have them?” Taako mutters, flipping the page.

On the back, she’s sketched a view of the Moon Base from her office. It’s just a quick doodle—Lucretia’s a really fucking good artist though, so it’s good.

He stares at it, and he’s shocked to realize that he misses that place.

How fucked up is that?

Taako,

I’ve done a lot of damage, haven’t I?

It’s taken me a while to realize just how much removing Lup from the equation has changed you. But it has, irrevocably, completely, and astonishingly. I’ve never known you to be like this; it’s like you’re harder, angrier, somehow. I don’t know if I even have the write words to describe it. You trust less. You were always lonely, but now, it feels infinitely greater. You walk around like there’s a gaping hole, a void that can’t be filled, or even grieved properly.

It’s only now that I realize that maybe removing Lup wasn’t a mercy. In my year alone, the pain was so much that it was crippling. I wished so much that I could just forget, so I could do what I needed to do, because the pain, the grief, was just too much.

I have never believed the adage “It is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all.” If I had realized how long it would be, maybe I would have made a different decision. But I had no idea that it would take me a decade to even get one artifact besides my Staff.

I should have let you keep her, I see that now. It’s too late to change it, but I can see that now. Even though she can’t be here, I should have left her in your story. I guess, somehow, I was always so focused on not seeing you as two parts of a whole that I failed to realize that being separate people didn’t mean that you didn’t need each other.

I’m so sorry Taako.

-L

Taako throws the letters across the room. The ribbon is undone, and as a result the paper goes everywhere, individual sheets floating across the room and Taako just stands in the middle of it all, breathing heavily and trying not to cry.

The Death Trio are gone, checking out a rock band that’s possibly a necromantic cult or just is really into a skull aesthetic, and so Taako’s alone, in the house, and he wants to call up Lucretia and give her a goddamn piece of his mind.

It’s not right, he thinks, falling to the floor. Paper crinkles underneath him, but he doesn’t care.

For a century, it never mattered.

They’d all been sold out before, been betrayed, been stabbed in the back—sometimes literally. They’d died, they’d lost, they’d been screwed over, but it hadn’t mattered.

Because the rest of the world didn’t.

All of those other worlds, none of it had counted. They were dust. Why should Taako care if dust betrayed them? They were at best, impermanent and at worst, dead.

Taako didn’t need them. Sure, he’d liked some of the people over the years, but they hadn’t mattered. And so what if they didn’t like him? So what if they betrayed him? So what?

There had been six people who did, who were there for him. There wasn’t just Lup, anymore. There were six other, ridiculous, dumb, stubborn assholes who were there for him and cared about him.

Lucretia mattered.

She mattered, and she’d done this anyways.

She’d left him alone.

And that…

That counted.

Taako,

Do you really have to be so mean to Angus? All of you are, honestly, but that boy looks up to you so much.

-L

Taako goes to clean up and he doesn’t intend to read any of it, because clearly, what more could there be to say after that?

He looks down at that one, and swallows.

They’re all out of order now, randomly scattered across the room. He can’t help but look at them as he gathers them up and read Lucretia’s notes. There are doodles and recipes and a watercolor portrait of him and Lup. There’s mission debriefs and descriptions of whatever stupid shit she caught Magnus or Merle doing.

He gives in and puts them back in order to keep reading.

Taako,

The Grim Reaper?

-L

“Shut up,” Taako mutters, but his mouth twitches.

Taako,

It’s all my fault, isn’t it?

The Hunger is coming back, and I’m not sure that we can stop it. I don’t know if we can get all the artifacts in time.

And Barry and Lup’s warnings about the side effects of the shield…

I have doubts, Taako.

I can’t stand that. I’ve done too many horrible things to have doubts now. If I have doubts, it means I did all these things for nothing. Everything I’ve sacrificed, everything I’ve done, I did for a reason. It must be for a reason.

But look at what I’ve done to you—my family, my friends.

Would that disaster in Glamor Springs had happened if you’d been aware that you didn’t have a second person that you were used to, checking your work as you went? If you were the full, powerful wizard that I’d known during our century together, rather than someone who is still unravelling the true extent of his arcane powers?

Would Merle’s marriage have collapsed if he’d had a century of wisdom and peacemaking to draw upon? Would Magnus have lost his wife if he had all his skills as a warrior and protector?

These questions haunt me. I tried to give you all happy endings, but did I end up robbing you of the tools you needed to maintain them? You were all heroes. You deserved happy endings, you deserved the world to be kind to you.

You are going to hate me when you remember, I know that. I deserve that. I deserve all of it. I’ve done horrible things in the name of pursuing my goals, but what I’ve done to all of you… that’s the unforgivable.

But does that matter? I can’t bring myself to saying that I wouldn’t do most of it again. I would have changes, yes, but… the wars over the relics needed to be stopped. That I know, in my bones. There were far too many dead, Taako.

But of course, I can’t say if it will be worth it or not until the shield spell works or doesn’t.

If it works…

It will have been worth it.

Right?

-L

Taako stares at the letter for a long, long time.

He reads it over and over again, trying to think of what to… well, think.

Because…

Yeah, Lucretia has a good point.

She’d made them worse. Irrevocably, worse. They’d lost purpose, they’d lost their kindness, their bonds to other people, they’d lost a century of lessons learned and skills painfully gained. She’d stripped all of that away and gone off on her own, determined to fix the mistakes that all of them had made.

Taako crumples up the letter again, then slowly straightens it out, because he needs to reread it.

He stares.

Lup was in the umbrella before Lucretia had fed Fisher the journals.

He thinks about her, scrying over and over again, until she collapsed from exhaustion. Taako had never even thanked her, because he was too busy trying to find her as well. She’d been looking.

Over and over again, in her letters, she’d promised him that she’d been looking.

How would they have found her? How long would it have been for them to track down Wave Echo Cave? And would they have looked in the umbrella, or made assumptions that she was… elsewhere, like Lucretia had? It had taken Lup months to gain enough strength to try to message him.

Would Magnus have met Julia? Taako’s visited the grave, walked through the town of Raven’s Roost, rebuilt and in its glory, and now he wonders what could have brought Magnus to that town, made him stay. He’d led a revolution, and he’d fallen in love and gotten married and yeah, maybe he could have saved Julia if he’d been like he is now, but…

She had died while Magnus was gone. Taako knows that story. It had taken until after the Hunger, but Taako knows the story.

And he and Merle went out a few months back and found this Kalen and finished things, because Lucretia was right about that, at least.

Magnus had earned that happy ending.

They all had.

Merle had earned a life on the beach, but… Taako doesn’t know that he agrees with Lucretia. Merle was still learning to be a dad, and he had no idea what he was doing.

Taako tries to think about the world, where Lucretia never did what she did. He thinks about wars, and the Relics blowing shit up, about the way that all of them had been… withering, in those months. Lup had been gone and there was no trace of her and…

Taako doesn’t know if that would have been a better world.

Taako,

I was right I guess.

I can’t believe you’d handed Lup right over to me and I hadn’t realized it. If I had just thought, I might have been able to free her from that.

I don’t know what it would have changed, but I could have answered that question so much faster.

The world is saved. I was right, but I was wrong, and I don’t…

I keep trying to think of how we could have gotten here without this, I really do. I know what I’ve done is unforgivable. I’m not trying to justify it. I deserve every ounce of your hatred. I don’t expect you to ever read this post-script, this final letter, this epilogue.

The Hunger is defeated. We finally can move on with our lives.

I just wish the cost hadn’t been quite so high.

I’m not even sure what to do with these letters. You don’t want to come near me, and I am trying to respect your wishes. But it feels wrong, to never send these letters. To never give you at least the chance to have the answers to some of the questions you may have.

I’m not asking for your forgiveness. I don’t deserve it.

But I just want you to know that you are my family, and I love you still, even though I know you want nothing to do with me.

-Lucretia

Taako goes to see her.

“This doesn’t make it right,” he tells her. She’s sitting in her office, because there’s no throne room in the new Bureau of Benevolence. Lucretia’s still dramatic, sure, because this office is fucking bombastic as fuck, but now she doesn’t need a giant fucking staircase or a base on the moon. Taako’s not sure where she’s channeling all of her extra, but it’s probably around somewhere. Maybe there’s a secret passage or something. He’ll ask Angus, Angus would have found a secret passage in the first week.

Lucretia looks at him in surprise. “You read them.”

“Of course I did,” Taako says with a lightness he doesn’t feel.

“Taako,” she says. “I know it doesn’t matter. I know what I did was unforgivable. It’s not fair, I know, that your happiness was collateral damage to save the world.” Grief, Taako realizes, is deeply set into her face. She’s old, she’s fucking old, she’s way older than him, and that feels weird. “I know that nothing can ever make amends for that. You deserved so much better, Taako.”

“Yeah,” Taako says quietly. “I did.”

She bows her head and lowers her eyes, and Taako drops the letters onto her desk.

They’re not her letters. They’re written on Kravtiz’s fucking emo stationary. She looks up at him, startled.

“Doesn’t mean you don’t deserve better as well,” he says. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not fucking cool with it—but you know. You kept looking.” He swallows, his throat tight. “That… that matters.”

Lucretia carefully undoes the ribbon—he’d found the ugliest, frilliest, laciest ribbon he could, and then transmuted it to make it worse.

Pages upon pages of letters explode outwards, because Taako had rigged a tiny bit of a spell on there, and Lucretia picks one up.

“Lucretia,” she reads. “So I made some weird pumpkin cake thing that nobody likes and I know now it’s because you’re the only person who likes it and I never could figure out why I’d keep making it even though I kept telling myself I’d change the recipe. Dash, Taako, you know, from TV.”

She looks up at him, her eyes large and watering, pressing the letter against her chest like it’s something precious.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

Taako shrugs. “Don’t make a big deal out of it,” he says. “I’m still mad at you.”

But he meets her eyes, and finds himself smiling.

#Taako #Lucretia #Letters To No One #TAZ Fic #The Adventure Zone #TAZ: Balance #Steph Writes

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melzan-of-bregan-daerthe · 7 years ago

Text

Eleint the 2nd 1489

He plucked at the strings. He was constantly doing this. They never sounded right to him, so he would tune each to resonance. Off from a typical lute, six strings either sounding like two too many or not nearly enough for him.

"Ooh, It's a passion, Ooh, you can feel it in the air~"

he more spoke under his breath than sang, but something about it carried. Some subtle magic laced into the sound, something between the strings plucked by those sharp fingernails. Iliad would glance up only a second, not at anything in particular, but as if to pull his head out of what ever world he'd left it in to catch his breath. Face hidden by veil and hood, he'd dive back into it.

Melzan heard the music. He'd been looking over his holy book. Magical music. Making sure his face wasn't visible he got up and followed the tune. Not surprised by Illiad being the musician he chose to listen. Melzan did not attempt to remain unnoticed as he approached.

The drow kept his distance to a few feet away, more out of habit from trying to hide himself from others than actually not wanting to be nearer.

His voice was always strange when he sang, the way it filtered away his strange accent. The musician was strange. Most bards wove their magic with song, and he was clearly capable. Instead he used the same kinda common gestures as any sorcerer. He didn't seem to be enjoying the tool as he played it, leaning against a stump felled some time ago. But it sounded pretty. Chords that didn't seem to be native to this realm.

"Lift your hands and voices, free your minds and join us~ you can feel it in the air~"

He didn't seem to notice melzan's approach. Or, maybe that was why he lifted his head before. Either way it didn't seem for any consequence to him. Actually, melzan would recognize this song, though the elf wouldn't be able to feel the better part of it's magic due to the nature of his race.

When Illiad finished Melzan clapped a few times. His gold eyes glowed under his hood as he tilted his head.

"You don't seem to enjoy your own music. Is there a reason?" Melzan didn't sound like he required an answer, just basic curiosity. "How easily can you play to a new tune?"

"I'm, used to something a bit less, pedestrian I guess?"

He tilted his head, phantom amber eyes of his illusion looking to melzan's. his body language was his emotional indicator. Wrapped up tight and only showing those fake amber eyes.

"I'm absolutely garbage at picking things up like that. I'm not a trained bard."

"I'm certain you are better than you think. Instruments were never something I learned. It's a bit amusing that I'd end up with a goddess who loves music and poetry. It's one of the things I've really enjoyed about the surface," Melzan folded his arms as he thought about what to say next.

The man said he would be garbage, but it might be worth a try. Not to mention Melzan really wasn't sure how to be friendly. What would a human or another elf do? Probably try to get him to do what they wanted anyway, garbage or no.

"The instrumental part doesn't have many, uh, cords? Notes? I'm a pretty garbage singer so we'll both be bad?" admitting he wasn't good at something, normally that would be ridiculed by his kind as a sign of weakness.

"If you're looking for common ground, you've all ready had me at the aesthetic love."

He smiled up to the drow, motioning to their similar sense of dress. These conversations always amused him. Genuine awkwardness was a treat for him, something he was able to take in often with this group.

Talk of his goddess lifted a sharp eyebrow, not that melzan could see it. He had always been so expressive, hiding behind them. Almost felt naked to be so covered up. He wondered if that would matter to a goddess.

"If you sang melz, I would play with you. Might not be the sound you're looking for but, I will play."

"Common ground? Oh... similarities. It's not as fast as the one you were singing," Melzan had to think about what Illiad had meant.

Melzan didn't understand a few terms in common very well. He knew sarcasm, but joking and slang were something he had to continue working on. Swallowing he nodded and hummed a little tune. When Illiad got it, he began to sing, softly.

Melzan almost felt embarrassed about doing something so useless, but at the same time it warmed him up inside. It was a song that many who worshiped Eilistraee sang, words from their goddess.

((stealing song from dragon age because it fits the lore a bit: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dULdG1dGPos ))

When he finished he nodded. "Thank you...."

Plucking along was a simple thing. His notes close enough to what he thought melzan's voice needed more so then what he was look ingredients for. It, was eerie to him how the tone seemed to slowly shift from him. Fingers moving away from the established notes, to find tones more fitting on their own.

Elvish was a strange language for him. Synapses firing off and fussing about then meanings of words as he heard them. Like he was just on the cusp of understanding what they meant. He couldn't help but feel as though he was supposed to know. Elves frustrated him. Would the women who'd brought him into this world have known this song? Would she have sang it to comfort him as a child...

"Any time melz. You should know by now I enjoy spending time with you."

The young man laughed softly behind the illusion.

"You don't need to thank a friend for something like that love."

Melzan narrowed his eyes to figure out if Illiad was being sarcastic or not when he mentioned 'enjoying' spending time with him. Deciding he meant it honestly had his eyes widening in surprise. Soon the Drow looked away, unsure of what to say to those kind remarks. Even his old 'friends' did not regard him in such a manner. Not to mention no other Drow would be caught dead saying some of those things. It made him nervous and uneasy but Melzan took a deep breath and tried to ease his tensed shoulders.

"Sit melzan, it's alright to relax."

He yawned softly in response to the fries narrowing golden eyes. Atreyu really didn't get the ridgedness of it all. Expressing little things like that, it was simple and clean. Opening up without giving any ground or taking any loss. He's save the worry and stress for the real secrets. Just bury them all under open sentiment.

"You gotta teach me how to speak with you to avoid those reactions."

After taking a moment to consider the offer he moved to sit with Illiad. Relaxing is not something a Drow did easily. Most of their training built around paranoia and distrust didn't help the matter.

"What do you mean? Some of your words are..." he rubbed one of his hands with the other, thumb running over his palm as the right word struggled to find it's way out. 'Nice', 'Startling', 'untrustworthy', 'sarcastic', 'strange', 'affectionate' ... Finally he decided on a word. "Unexpected."

"I don't think the way every one else does."

He blinked, tilting his head.

"I don't really think much before I speak either. Just kinda blurt of something almost ok and steer into the current..."

Melzan let out a single laugh at remembering how Illiad had acted with people so far. The man certainly did not have a way with words as much as he had a way with song and music.

"The things you say are not bad they are just not things I am used to hearing. At all. Even the term of endearment. No one has ever referred to me as such and there's not such a word in my original language so when I actually realized what you were calling me meant I thought you might be being literal or sarcastic. I'm still a bit new to common and the surface. It's hard when the language has a meaning for words, but sometimes the word might not mean what the person meant to say, but it does anyway," Melzan shrugged. "Outside of other drow and those I met in the Underdark, I've no experience with others."

"Well, no pleasant ones."

He tilted his head, blinking again as he listened. He hadn't heard melzan say, half as much in one a single session.

"It's, words can be frustrating alright? People are a pain in the ass. They take things, the wrong way and... you should see me work when I don't care about who I'm speaking to or, wether or not someone I love is listening."

He sighed.

"I've never known another drow. You're my introduction. I promise that it hasn't been a bad one."

"You should not take my interaction as normal drow behavior, trust me. Most Drow would slit your throats as you slept. Manipulate you into killing those you care about. Just in general do their best to cause you the most pain they possibly could before killing you," Melzan was tense again as he thought about his time in his homeland. He'd still been a 'youth' when he was taken into the male band of traders/rebels.

Atreyu's hand found its self patting melzan's head, not looking over or saying anything for a moment.

"I keep meeting people from from terrible cultures. People who have escaped for what ever reasons."

He frowned, not taking his hand away, just gently patting.

"There are a lot of terrible people. Lot of terrible worlds and cultures. Even people who are at peace are terrible. Every single person I've ever met is the same in chains."

The hand patting his head startled Melzan and it took a lot of control not to jerk away. He held his hands together so tightly they trembled before he convinced himself that it was a regular gesture. He knew that patting a persons shoulder or hand was a thing, but not the head. It didn't hurt, or feel upsetting, just new.

"I think when it comes to cruelty demons may be the only ones out there worse than the Drow... But I have not been over the entire world so, that might be wrong. I've never known another race that openly accepts slaughtering and torturing their own families. Children, babies and all. Sometimes just for 'fun'," Melzan looked around to make sure there weren't any others that may be startled by his appearance. Satisfied he reached up and let his hood fall back and uncovered his face.

"Well, honestly, that is... uh, a really fucking stupid way to do things."

He nodded, pulling his hand back and putting his weight on melzan's shoulder. He was, too light. Sickly light for a human man, even more for a half orc. It might have even be weird to see him without food in his mouth.

"I know what it's like to be under to influence of an evil deity."

"... There's something more wrong with you than you let on. You're keeping it from everyone. Not just what you are. I realize you don't want people to know. Cursed or worse. Constant need to eat. The so thin you probably should be dead appearance, although I'm not sure how much of that is for show," Melzan took in a deep breath and looked at him before smiling a little. "You're pretty fucked up, friend. Guess that's why we all actually are getting along. All fucked up in our own ways. Also, I'm using that word correctly? It's a vulgar common word used to emphasize things, correct?"

"It's just very lewd to keep saying while we're so close to each other."

He lied casually. Deflection, swerve and bob and duck and deflect. He was an excellent liar.

"Yeah, we're all a mess huh? I'm just a hungry guy trying to keep a pretty girl safe. Like a cliche story."

"Lewd?" Melzan thought about that and what they normally thought was 'lewd' on the surface. His skin around his cheeks darkened ever so slightly, hardly enough to even be noticeable. "Yes. We are a mess. I've never really read stories like that. So this is all kind of new. Also, you're not just a hungry guy. That 'ritual' you do in the morning is not for meditation or worship." Melzan poked the man in the chest. "And I bet it has something to do with your missing shadow and how much you care for Nessa. I like mysteries, and I don't forget about them. Just because you wont tell me or try to avoid it, doesn't mean I'm going to completely drop the issue. I can have patience."

"Well, you'll out live me love. So I just gotta wait till I drop."

He chuckles, finishing his ritual and creating his dome of space around them. Taking a breath, he released the glamour that was masking him and pulled his hood back.

"I have a lot of answers, all of them are lies and I really hope you don't hate me for it. Maybe some time I'll tell you about the derst house where I met her."

"This really does seem a lot like home sometimes," Melzan smiled and didn't seem bothered by the fact that they would be lies. "Your business is your business. I'm not curious about how you met Nessa, more I'm curious about what's going on with you. As a healer, it worries me. I want to help you, but I don't know how." Melzan admitted and looked at Illiad. "Also, we all might die. I'll only outlive you if no one kills me first. Which, considering everything, may be likely. I have a lot of people who hate me. A lot."

"I intend to keep you alive remember?"

He yawned and stretched, taking his weight off of melzan. The half orc was, a definite change from the false human who had just been sitting with the drow. Olive skin, and a broad scar across his face. His orcish features were minimal. Sharp canines, but hardly the tusks one expected to see, a more animalistic nose, a long jagged ears. His left eye was, beast like. A sharp green iris, and blade strip of black at it's centre. Orcish. His right however, wasn't so much an eye as it was a Maroon coloured orb almost glowing.

"I mentioned the house because it was a mystery. Haunted and evil, but i pieced together it's story. I like stories."

He shrugged, pulling the cloak off, no one else could enter the hut so, he had his privacy. His breast plate would take a moment.

"If you're concerned about my health then you can look me over."

"Maybe I'll have to look into it later but haunted houses aren't so mysterious most of the time. Also, yes, I do hope you can keep me alive," he watched Illiad and tried to figure out if he'd put on weight with the disguise down.

He was a bit surprised that they were in his hut with such privacy without the others. Most of the time Illiad summoned the hut when it was time to sleep for all of them. At the same time when the half-orc began to take off his breastplate it made more sense. This apparently was something that Milo, Nessa, and Sam had no knowledge of.

"You really do trust me," Melzan said out loud more to himself than to Illiad. "I - uh... I'll do my best not to um... betray it..." he'd heard other people say that and it felt odd, but right to admit.

If anything, the breast plate and the layers of clothing under played exactly how under weight he was. Under the plate he wore a simple loose shirt. Something a sailor might wear. He was tall, inches taller out side of the illusion, and his shoulders were broad the way one would expect a half orc to be. But his body was thin, and lithe, too thin. He, didn't look sickly, in fact his physical constitution was well above average. Atreyu was just thin.

"You'd be surprised how often I tell the truth. Like I said, I trust you."

He flicked his wrist, and a crossbow bolt popped into existence. He tossed it onto the cloak.

"I don't know what's wrong with me, but I am getting better, slowly."

Melzan looked at the bolt then back to illiad. So this man wanted him to keep even more secretes. Not that he couldn't, but Melzan wasn't sure how the other team members would react to that once he heard about it.

"Getting better slowly is a good thing at least." Melzan nodded.

The bolt was no secret from the others. Just a means of defence in case of being unarmed. Defence that could sting a good deal more then cantrips. Save the dagger in his boot that he was just about to toss onto the cloak, he was completely unarmed.

"People have secrets. Mine are to protect nessa and my self. Pretty soon it won't matter."

"My health doesn't matter for now. I can still fight, I can skill cast, and I can still lie. Every other thing is extra melzan."

Melzan nodded. Though he moved to look over Illiad.

"Your health might not matter now, but that could change. It's very, very easy for someone to go from sickly to bed ridden. Granted I was wrong and you look even more starved now."

He looked up at the scar on Illiad's face and wondered how he survived from that. Likely friends or a healer. Maybe he didn't survive and a cleric or someone revived him. Melzan had his own scars, but nothing quite as severe, at least he didn't think so. Then again no one ever saw his scars. Even with other he only uncovered his face. His gloves stayed on, and basically everything he wore stayed on. Nothing else exposed but his face. Elf like features, high cheek bones, pointed ears although they were shorter than surface elf ears. Dark, almost blue skin, and silvery white hair.

-insert insight check of 18-

He's not lying about keeping secrets to protect himself and nessa.

He definitely looks worse without his illusion up.

And you get the idea that he has no fucking idea what's going on with his body, or if he is getting better

Melzan frowned. He reached out and paused before touching Iliad's arm. He wasn't sure if the half orc wanted him to try and figure this all out.

Atreyu stretched, taking a sip from the ewer he kept on his hip. How he wasn't always completely sloshed was dizzying. His half orc physiology was probably the only thing keeping him... standing anyway. He didn't flinch as melzan touched him, actually, almost. It had been awhile since anyone actually touched him. He took another sip, eyes shifting to the drow's. "Thirsty melz?"

"... I suppose," he nodded. "Do you want to figure this all out? I'm not promising that i can, but i can at least try," he would take the ewer when offered.

"No? Maybe?" He shrugged, holding the glorified wine jug out. It, was pretty, made of some brassy metal, adorned with images of wolves and deers and other forest animals dancing about in relief. It, felt as though it was half full, liquid swishing inside, but if melzan were to look, it would be empty. "Just take a sip, it's weird but it pours." The wine it's self was, a delightful pink fizzy liquid, deliciously sweet and very strong. As likely to catch a person off guard with hiccups as alcohol content.

Melzan was caught off guard slightly. The hiccups started soon after his drink. He couldn't cast spells hiccuping like that. During on hiccup he glared a little at Iliad.

Then, he removed one of his gloves and reached to touch his arm. A maybewas as good as a yes he figured.

He smiles playfully as the hiccups started, a genuine and abruptly handsome smile. He shook it off after a moment with a yawn.

"Don't, beat yourself up if you can't do anything love."

"I won't. Just means i have to research more."

Melzan frowned as he realized that there wasn’t much he could do. The curse was strong and out of his power, but he could at least assist with the pain or the side effects of the curse.

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