#war for rython

[thetrishtalgem]

Whumptober 2023 Day 1: "But now this room is spinning while I'm trying just to fill in all the gaps."

Safety Net || Swooning || "How many fingers am I holding up?"

Elaria Gautier never wanted her sons to get involved in the rebellion against the Empire. This is exactly why.

Tag List: @whumptober-archive

Fandom: Dungeons and Dragons (OCs)

Elaria sat in a small armchair, staring blankly at the painting hanging on the wall. Her eyes scanned every small detail as if trying to commit them to memory. Arya had told her it was a painting of the Crimson Plains as they once were. Before the massacre happened. She and Blythe had thankfully been brought into Mount Hjallerstorn via teleportation circle. She had heard rumors that skeletons of the fallen still littered the battlefield. Instead she focused on the scene in front of her, imagining instead the people that may have once called the fields their home. A wistful smile pulled at the corner of her mouth. Beside her there was a gentle sound of a mug being set down on the table. She glanced sideways to see her husband, holding his own steaming cup of tea.

“Thought you might want some,” he said.

She smiled gratefully, still keeping her attention fixed on the painting.

“Y’know, El, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were tryin’ to stare a hole into that paintin’.”

She turned her head finally as Blythe settled himself on the nearby couch. Despite the relaxed way his body seemed to sink into the cushions, she could hear the worry cut through his voice.

“I was just…trying to picture it for myself, I suppose,” she mused.

Blythe nodded his head. “I get it. ‘S a little hard, bein’ cooped up in a place like this. But it’ll be over soon enough, I’m sure.”

“For the sake of our boys, I certainly hope so.”

Elaria picked up the mug and took a sip of the tea. Warmth flooded her chest at the herbal flavor. For a moment, she felt as if she were back on the farm, sitting in the living room after dinner and watching Sylvain playing some sort of silly pretend game with his younger brother. She vaguely heard Blythe get up across from her and set his own cup down. It was only when she felt his hands rubbing her shoulders that she snapped out of the vision.

“I know yer worried,” he soothed her, voice quiet and calming, “but Sylvain and Miklan are gonna be okay. They’ve got each other, and the other Bar Crawlers, and the rest’ve the rebellion backin’ ‘em up.”

“I know that, dear. I just…sometimes I close my eyes, and all I can think of is all the things that could happen to them,” she sighed.

Blythe pressed his thumbs a bit harder into her shoulders. “Hey, I get it. In case ya forgot, they’re my sons too.”

“I’m sorry. I know you worry about them, too. I didn’t mean-,”

“I was teasin’ ya, El. Relax.”

“I promise you that I’m trying to.”

Elaria leaned her head back and took a deep breath. Blythe’s fingers continued to gently massage her shoulders, working out the knots as carefully and gently as he could. She let her eyes flutter shut and brought her focus to the feeling, breathing in time with each movement her husband made. For the first time since they had moved to the new safehouse, she started to feel…relaxed.

A loud, clattering SLAM caused her to jolt upright in her seat. Her hand flew to her chest as she tried to catch her breath. Blythe’s hands withdrew from Elaria’s shoulders.

“Ruinir?”

Elaria turned her head to see the half-elven man standing there and immediately felt alarm bells going off in her head. While Ruinir wasn’t exactly the most put-together of people, he’d always had this extremely calm air about himself. But the man that stood in the threshold looked flushed and frazzled, his expression creased with worry. Sweat beaded on his brow as his chest heaved.

“Ruinir,” she stood, making her way towards the man. “Are you alright?”

He nodded, managing to pant out an answer, “I’ll be fine.”

“Not that we mind the company, but what’s the occasion? Y’seem a bit harried for this to just be a stop-in to say hello,” Blythe asked.

“We…we’ve been given an update from inside the Imperial City.”

Elaria’s grip on her cup tightened.

“Ruinir, if y’need to sit, it’s not like we’re goin’ anywhere,” Blythe offered.

Worry gnawed at the inside of Elaria’s chest. She watched Ruinir glance up at the two of them. With each second that passed, she felt as if her heart may come bursting out of her chest. But when Ruinir did finally speak again, she almost wished he hadn’t.

“Sylvain’s been taken by the Inquisition.”

The cup slipped from Elaria’s fingers, sending shards of ceramic and hot tea scattering across the floor. But all she could hear was a high pitched ringing in her ears. Around her the room suddenly began to spin as she tried to process what Ruinir was telling her. Sylvain had been taken. The same people that had assassinated her uncle, and poisoned her father decades later, had her son.

Her baby boy.

“No…” she choked out, the tears spilling down her face. “No-!”

She felt a strong pair of arms wrap themselves around her body, catching her before she could collapse to the floor. A muffled voice spoke to her. But the sound was distorted, as if she were underwater. The only thing she could bring her focus to was Sylvain, and what awful things might be happening to him.

“My baby boy. M-my baby,” she sobbed.

Even with Blythe holding her against him, she still felt the room around her lurching. Her body trembled as she continued to weep on the floor. She could vaguely feel Blythe’s hands rubbing comfortingly up and down her arms. But it was no use. A million questions flew through her head. How could this have happened? When? Where were the others when he was taken? Was he even still alive? How long did he have? What were they going to do with him? Would she ever get to see her little boy again?

“It’s alright, El. I’m…I’m right here,” Blythe’s voice finally came through to her clearly. But despite the calm he tried to instill in her, she could hear the tremor in his own voice.

Ruinir bent down in front of her, a blurred silhouette through the tears, “I’m sorry, both of you. But I promise that we’re doing everything we can to get Sylvain back.”

“Sylvain…” she cried.

“El, c’mon,” Blythe held her tighter and began to guide her up. “Y’need to lay down. Alright?”

Her body felt completely weightless as she let Blythe pull her along towards their bedroom. The room still felt as though it might throw her off balance again at any moment. She was vaguely aware of Ruinir apologizing to the two of them once more before making himself scarce. Blythe pushed Elaria towards the bed where she immediately collapsed and curled in on herself.

“I told him he never should have gone. I-I can’t…I don’t want to go through this again,” Elaria stuttered.

Wordlessly, Blythe laid beside her and pulled a blanket over the two of them. She rolled over to face him and buried her face in his chest. His hands came to rub soothing circles on her back. Elaria laid there for a while, taking what little comfort she could in her husband’s presence until exhaustion finally caught up to her and she drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

[thetrishtalgem]

Day 8: "I've got soul, but I'm not a soldier."

Overcrowded ER || Outnumbered || "It's all for nothing."

Image Sources: (x) (x) (x) (x) (x) Models made with Hero Forge

Fandom: Dungeons and Dragons (OCs)

Late is better than never everyone. Whumptober 2023 may be over but it ain't over in my heart!!!

[thetrishtalgem]

"I love you, Laila. You feel like home to me." "I love you, too, Sylvain."

Apple Music | Spotify

My main PC from our homebrew game and his wonderful girlfriend! <3

Models made with HeroForge

Background Image: (x)

[thetrishtalgem]

"Guillermo! Thank the stars above that you're safe." "...Glad to see you made it out too, Rys."

In which I made something cute for my Temporary PC and her newfound companion to celebrate the end of the Inquisition arc in our homebrew game.

Models made with HeroForge

Background Image: (x)

[thetrishtalgem]

Whumptober Day 4 + 9: "I see the danger, it's written there in your eyes." / "Learning everything ain't what it seems, that's the thing about these days."

Cattle Prod || Shock || "You in there?"

Polaroid || Mistaken Identity || "You're a liar."

After celebrating their defeat of the High General, Sylvain hears some unexpected news from an even more unexpected source.

Fandom: Dungeons and Dragons (OCs)

Tag List: @whumptober-archive

Sylvain could still feel the residual adrenaline from the earlier battle. It seemed like the Bar Crawlers had talked about taking General Pallas Cassian down for ages. And they had finally done it. The rebellion won. Cassian was in their custody now. Despite Emperor Malacode’s open disdain for the High General, the Imperial Army within Vallorum was in shambles. It felt like too long since the Bar Crawlers had been able to celebrate a victory. So it was nice to sit back and watch the others drinking and dancing their hearts out. Even Sylvain had a cocktail in his hand, nodding his head along to the music that Lys was playing.

“Um…Sylvain?”

He turned to see Laila standing next to him. Some of the relaxation replaced itself with worry as he noticed the creased set of her eyebrows.

“Hey, babe. Everything alright?” he asked.

She averted her gaze. “I was…actually wondering if we could talk about something.”

“Yeah, of course,” Sylvain took the last sip of his drink before sliding the empty glass across the bar. “C’mon, let’s take a walk outside. Get some fresh air.”

Laila nodded, still keeping her eyes fixed mostly on the ground. Sylvain reached a hand out, lacing their fingers together as he weaved his way through the crowd of partygoers. Without incident, the two of them made their way out of the rebel bar and into the streets of the Imperial City. The sun was just beginning to set below the horizon, painting the sky vibrant shades of orange and pink. These parts of the streets stayed relatively empty, especially at this time of night. Sylvain gently pulled Laila along to a spot where the sky was more visible.

“It’s really beautiful out tonight,” he mused.

“Yeah…”

Sylvain turned, noticing the tears that began to brim in her eyes. He cupped her cheek with one hand and turned her to face him, “Hey, what’s the matter?”

“I…” Laila trailed off. The tears finally started to roll down her cheeks as she sobbed.

“Laila, baby, c’mere,” Sylvain brushed some of the teardrops away with his thumb and pulled her closer. “It’s okay. Whatever it is, it’s-,”

“It’s not okay, Sylvain. It’s not. We’ve been so careful, and talked so much, and I…I’m terrified right now,” she choked out.

Sylvain brought his other hand up to her back and began to rub soothing circles. “Slow down, I can’t keep up with what you’re talking about. Does this…did something happen during the battle?”

“No, you idiot! Just-,” she pushed against his chest before taking in a shaky breath, “just give me a second.”

“Okay, I’m sorry. I just…I’m trying to help. You’re the most important person in the world to me, and I’m worried about you,” Sylvain answered.

Laila chuckled dryly, “Not anymore I won’t be.”

“Wh-what?”

Sylvain could feel his heart pounding against his chest. For a moment, all he could hear was the blood rushing to his ears. He watched carefully as Laila took in a slow, shaky breath to  calm herself. Then she looked up at him, her eyes shining.

“I’m pregnant, Sylvain.”

The entire world suddenly seemed to go silent. Sylvain stared at Laila, mouth hung agape in shock. He could feel the sting of his own tears now. His knees felt weak. Numbly he reached an arm behind him to brace himself against the wall. The words continued to echo in his head, over and over again.

“You…” Sylvain’s voice was weak as he finally choked out a response, “...y-you’re sure that you are?”

“Of course I’m sure, you asshole! I wouldn’t be telling you if I wasn’t, or just for shits and giggles!” Laila shouted.

Sylvain winced. “Okay, I’m…I’m sorry, I-I just…”

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do,” Laila huffed, now pacing anxiously back and forth. “I don’t just want to sit on the sidelines when we’re in the middle of a war, and there’s more that I could be doing instead of just being cooped up in a mountain safehouse, and now is not the time to raise a baby, and…and-,”

Quickly, Sylvain surged forward and pulled her close against his chest. He held her tightly as she dissolved into another fit of sobs against him. His chin rested on top of her head and he rubbed her back up and down slowly. Her arms wrapped tightly around his waist. They stayed together that way until Sylvain could feel Laila’s breathing begin to even out again.

“We’ll…we’ll figure this out, somehow,” he assured her.

She looked up at him, face a tear-stricken mess still. “I just…I’m so scared, Sylvain. I’m scared about you coming back to me safe.”

“You have my word that I will. No force on this plane or any other can keep me from my family,” He cupped her cheek with his hand. “I will come home to you.”

“How can you know that, though? I love you, but you tend to just run off into things without thinking about them or telling anyone.”

“I’ve promised you I wouldn’t do that anymore, and I haven’t. Almost losing Lys to the marilith in the Vault, it…it finally made me realize just how terrible that feeling was. I wish it hadn’t taken me so long, but what’s done is done. I will never do that again, I haven’t done it again. You can always ask the others if you want to be sure.”

Laila shook her head. “I trust you.”

“I’m glad,” Sylvain placed a gentle kiss on the top of her forehead. “I love you, with all of my heart. And I trust you, too.”

“I know you do.”

Sylvain smiled. He pulled her closer against him again.

“That’s why this was so easy it almost wasn’t fun, Gautier.”

Sylvain watched Laila pull away from him. There was a smug grin that stretched across her face. Then he watched her form begin to grow and shift. Her long white hair began to shrink up to her shoulders and tufts of hair sprouted on her upper lip and chin. The bones of her face shifted, becoming much more sallow and aged. Her skin wrinkled and darkened to a shade of purple. Blue and black robes replaced her usual leather armor. Sylvain continued to watch as the familiar form of his girlfriend finally changed to that of the High Inquisitor, Vulcaris. He instinctively reached for the sword at his hip, only to find the scabbard empty.

Vulcaris tilted his head. “Looking for this?”

He held the silver hilt of Sylvain’s blade out tauntingly. Sylvain lunged to reach for it, but it was for naught. Arcane energy shimmered around his form as he found himself stuck in place. All he could do was watch as several more robed figures stepped out of the shadows, blocking every one of his possible escapes. Vulcaris turned his back and strode away without a care in the world as the other Inquisitors began to enclose on Sylvain.

“Take him into custody,” he commanded. “And don’t be afraid to use force, if you must.”

[thetrishtalgem]

Whumptober Day 3: "Like crying out in empty roms, with no one there except the moon."

Journal || Solitary Confinement || "Make it stop."

Being back in the Imperial City has awakened more bad memories than Tesi bargained for.

Fandom: Dungeons and Dragons (OCs)

Tag List: @whumptober-archive

“Tesi, I am warning you. Do NOT do anything with that journal until I tell you to. Do you understand?”

It had been two days since Lys had given her Nyssa Cassian’s research notes. She had made a promise to Lys that she would leave the book alone. It wasn’t like she was curious to read the details of Nyssa’s secret experiments.

Not like you need advice in making innocent people’s lives miserable.

Tesi lifted her head to gaze around the bedroom, allowing some of her ki energy to flow through her. Though there were no others with her in her room, visible or otherwise. She closed her eyes and let out a heavy sigh. Self-doubt and guilt were two demons Tesi was very familiar with wrestling with. But ever since the Bar Crawlers had arrived at the Imperial City, she felt as though her intrusive thoughts were becoming unnaturally loud. It helped that she had her friends surrounding her, sometimes.

Almost as if on cue, she heard a knock on her door. She called out, “Come in.”

The door pushed open and she heard the clicking sound of heeled boots against the wooden floor.

“I don’t know how you can tolerate those things for so long, Sylvain,” she said without even looking up.

He laughed. “Damn. Am I really that obvious anywhere I go?”

“You’re predictable,” Tesi answered. “You come by every night.”

“Well, the shoes were definitely a learning curve. Laila had a blast watching me try to figure out how to walk in them. Along with everything else Skye does,” Sylvain said.

Tesi grunted in response. After a moment, she felt the mattress sag next to her.

“Listen. If you want me to stop coming by, then I can try to do that. I’m just…I’m worried about you,” Sylvain spoke quietly.

“You don’t need to be. I’m fine.”

“I know I’m not as good at reading people as you are, but you’re not good at lying either. That’s a load of horse shit, and we both know it.”

Tesi was quiet for a moment. There was a dull ache in her chest. On one hand, it might not be such a bad idea to let the Bar Crawlers help her. To tell them just everything that she was dealing with. It was good to talk about her problems with other people. But on the other hand, that’s why she talked to Sieristoria. It had made her feel better in the moment to get some of her burdens off her chest. And then she had gone looking for Fatima to try and work through what their plan of action would be.

She wouldn’t need a plan if you didn’t put her in danger in the first place.

“It’s just…a lot that I don’t think I’m ready to talk about,” Tesi admitted.

“I get that. When you are ready to talk-,”

“I know. You’re here.” Tesi paused for a moment. “Literally.”

Sylvain laughed at that. “Alright. I can take a hint. I’ll go back to my own room.”

He stood, striding out of the room without saying anything else. Tesi laid backwards on the bed with a heavy sigh as the door shut behind Sylvain. A part of her felt guilty for chasing him out. But there was only so much hovering she could tolerate before she lost her patience. She stared blankly at the ceiling, trying to make sense of everything bouncing around in her head.

It felt like they still didn’t have a solid plan of attack against General Cassian, and his ships were due to leave the harbor for Levian City soon. Fatima had come up with an idea to create a naval blockade and seemed confident in her ability to pull it off when the time came. But how were they going to target Cassian himself? Where were they going to imprison him after his defeat? What was the next move after that? What if Fatima decided she didn’t want to stay with the Bar Crawlers after the assault was finished, and she went back to the Grand Archive with stupid Nyssa Cassian and her stupid bath potions and-,

“You really should just do something about her already. It would be so ridiculously easy for someone of your skillset.”

Tesi sat bolt upright in bed. Standing in front of her was a dark-skinned man she was quickly becoming familiar with. The corner of his mouth was pulled up in a coy grin. His dark hair was neatly swept to the side. A deep gash marked his throat exactly where Francois had run his blade clean through. Castor Cassian watched Tesi with a look of bemusement for a moment.

“I mean seriously. Seeing you seethe with rage is fun and all, but…” Castor looked Tesi up and down with a cruel smile, “I want to see what you can really do.”

Tesi’s shoulders tensed. She turned away from the spector and began to rummage through her bag. Castor stepped forward to stay just in the edge of Tesi’s vision.

“You should show someone that journal…” he sang.

Still refusing to look at him, Tesi pulled out a small, porcelain teacup and watched it begin to fill itself with piping hot tea from Araban.

Castor persisted, “Don’t you want to stop her before she adds Fatima to her list of subjects?”

She took a slow sip from her teacup.

“Or are you going to let someone else you care about take the consequences for your actions?”

Tesi’s grip on the teacup tightened. But she refused to turn her head. Refused to acknowledge the taunting spirit beside her. Perhaps if she continued to focus on her breathing and keep a calm state of mind, she could sever the connection.

“Help…p-please!”

The teacup slipped from Tesi’s fingers and tumbled onto the bed. She barely felt the burning hot liquid pour across her legs as a small, whimpering voice called out now. Slowly she turned her head to see another familiar figure. A young human boy, no older than 10, with mousy brown hair and watery green eyes. From underneath the sleep shirt he wore, she watched blood begin to blossom from his chest.

“No…no, please,” she whispered.

Tears ran down the young boy’s face. His hands grasped at the fabric of his shirt, pulling at it desperately. He tried to speak, but all that came out of him was a choking sound.

“Please, stop,” Tesi begged.

“H-help me…” the boy sobbed.

“Make it stop,” Tesi cried.

“Please, I…I don’t want to die…!”

“Make it stop!”

Her fingers raked through her hair and she shut her eyes tightly. But nothing seemed to help cut through the sound of Erik Brand’s cries of anguish. She didn’t even register when the door to her room slowly creaked open, or the quick slam as heeled feet hurried across the room. It wasn’t until Sylvain had his arms wrapped around her that she even realized someone came in.

“Tesi? Wh-what happened?” he asked.

“Make it stop,” she repeated, leaning her body into Sylvain’s. “Please, make it stop.”

She felt his hand begin to rub slowly up and down her back, “Hey, it’s okay. Whatever’s going on, it’s gonna be okay. I’m here for you.”

Tesi didn’t answer him. She instead continued to let herself fall apart.

[thetrishtalgem]

Whumptober Day 13: Can't Make an Omelet Without Breaking a few Legs

Fracture || Dislocation || "Are you here to break me out?"

Being one of the least stealthy and most hotheaded members of the party, it was inevitable that Sylvain would be captured alone. Thankfully, he's able to find allies even in the most unlikely of places.

Tag List: @poetic-leigh-me @writerofscribbles @whumptober-archive

Fandom: Dungeons and Dragons (OCs)

Sylvain woke to the sound of guard change. He’d always been a fairly light sleeper, even after learning the clockwork-like schedule of movement in the prison. Perhaps he should’ve considered himself lucky. If it had been Cyrric that found him, he’d be dead. Instead he had the luxury of rotting away in a prison cell. He wasn’t sure how long they were going to keep him here.

He leaned his head back against the wall again and tried to make himself comfortable. There was a sharp pain in his right arm each time he moved. He’d done the best he could to keep it still. The guards had seized his holy symbol and other effects when they’d brought him in, making it impossible for him to heal his injuries. From the way it ached, he was fairly certain that the bone had been fractured. He closed his eyes, hoping he could drift back off to sleep for the time being.

It wasn’t long before he heard one of the soldiers let out a grunt of pain and metallic crumpling. Curious, he peeked one eye open to see one of the guards laying on the floor. The other was fumbling with a ring of keys at the door of his cell. Sylvain opened both of his eyes to see the silhouette of a half-elven man pushing the door open and waving for him.

“Sylvain! C’mon!”

Sylvain’s eyes widened in surprise as he recognized the voice.

“Chad!?” Sylvain struggled to pull himself up. “Are…are you here to break me out?”

Chad’s head whipped backwards before turning back to look at Sylvain, “Yes, now come on! Before someone notices!”

Still somewhat stunned, Sylvain quickly got to his feet. He held his arm gingerly and ran to the edge of the cell. Chad closed the door behind him and wrapped his arms tightly around Sylvain. The pressure made Sylvain cry out in pain. Chad backed away, worry plain on his face.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Chad muttered. “I just…I’m glad you’re alright.”

“I can’t say I’m not happy to see you, but I am a little lost here. Aren’t you one of Cyrric’s knights now?” Sylvain asked.

Chad turned his head again and gestured for Sylvain to start walking. “Yeah. An Imperial Angel. But I just…I don’t know. It’s a lot to try and explain in so little time.”

“The whole devil-aligning thing didn’t sit right with you.”

Chad laughed humorlessly. “You bastard. You always did see right through me, huh?”

“You wear your heart on your sleeve. It’s not a bad thing,” Sylvain smiled.

“It is when you do it like you do.”

“If I remember correctly, that was one of the things you liked about me.”

Chad playfully punched Sylvain in the arm. He only realized his mistake as Sylvain’s face twisted in pain.

“I’m sorry,” Chad gingerly rested his hand on Sylvain’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“Just-!” Sylvain sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth to control his voice. “Don’t do it again. Please.”

“R-right,” Chad stuttered.

There was an awkward moment of silence between the two of them.

“So…” Sylvain trailed off. “What, exactly, was your plan?”

Chad stopped for a beat and stared at Sylvain. “Did you think I just bust you out without knowing what the next step was? Seriously?”

“Listen, I know you’re good at sneaking around. That’s never been my forte,” Sylvain had a nostalgic grin on his face. “The more you can tell me, the better.”

“Right. Well, right now the plan is to get you to the armory so we can get you into a set of armor and blend in with the rest of the soldiers. From there, it’ll be easier for you to move about freely,” Chad explained.

Sylvain chuckled. “Fancy. So I’ll get to have Imperial Angel armor all of my own. It’ll be hard letting go of the set I had before.”

“Yeah, about that…”

“Let me guess. When my stuff got seized, the armor got taken back. Didn’t it.”

“Yeah…”

“Eh. Kinda figures. I’m definitely more of a mythril man myself nowadays. Turns out silver is a stunning color on me.”

The two of them shared a laugh despite the tense circumstances. Sylvain found that even after more than a decade apart from each other, there was something to be said for the way he felt comfortable around Chad Nair. Chad had always worked hard even though he’d been born into wealth and nobility. He was an honest man that desired helping others more than anything else. Sylvain was glad that despite their differences in alignment, he was able to find his old friend.

Chad stopped him at a larger set of iron doors and pushed through them effortlessly. Sylvain’s eyes scanned the room to see the stockade of weaponry and armor before him. The silver of the breastplates glistened in the dim candlelight of the room. Every pike and every dagger was perfectly in line. Not a hair was out of place. Chad closed the doors behind him and breezed past Sylvain towards one of the supply cabinets.

“Here. I know the equipment we’ve got isn’t your usual, but it’ll do in a pinch I’m hoping,” Chad took out a longsword and a dagger and handed them off to Sylvain.

Sylvain grimaced and gestured at his right arm, “Yeah, well…I think the fractured bone is gonna have a little more to do with my lack of proficiency here.”

“Better you have them than nothing. Now hurry and get yourself suited up. It won’t be long before the usual patrol finds my companion knocked out cold, and I’m nowhere to be found.”

“Chad, wait.”

Chad turned, looking at Sylvain expectantly.

“Thank you,” Sylvain said quietly, “for hearing me out back then. And getting me out now.”

Chad gave him a weary smile, “It’s what we do. For the people we love.”

“Yeah. I guess it is,” Sylvain felt a pang of guilt in his chest.

Fortunately, Chad seemed to understand the urgency of their situation. He gave Sylvain a small nod before pulling the door open. Sylvain turned to begin donning the heavy armor.

"Your things should still be in the spare barracks. Leave this room and turn down the first hallway on your left. It's the third door on the right," Chad explained. "And good luck."

"You too. I don't want to hear about Commander Nair's death, you hear me?" Despite the smile still on his face, Sylvain's voice was serious.

"Same goes for you, blockhead."

With a note of finality, the heavy iron doors swung shut, leaving Sylvain alone in the armory. It took him a bit longer than usual to suit up with the fracture in his arm, but he managed to do so with little issue. He chanced a look at himself in the mirror and grimaced. Imperial Armor, "angelic" or not, definitely did not suit him.

Outside of the armory, he heard chaos beginning to erupt. Several soldiers seemed to be rushing by, shouting about the attack on Commander Nair and his partner. Many were trying to deduce where the prisoner had escaped. Sylvain quickly slipped the helmet on his head and shut the visor before rushing out through the doors himself.

And truthfully, it was one of his better prison breaks.

[thetrishtalgem]

Whumptober 2022 Day 3: Hair's Breadth from Death

Gun To Temple || "Say goodbye." || Impaled

The 1-v-1 battle between Sylvain and Colonel Justus ended in a success for the Bar Crawlers: but what if the Champion of Helm had been overwhelmed?

Tag List: @poetic-leigh-me @writerofscribbles @whumptober-archive

Fandom: Dungeons and Dragons (OCs)

Sylvain always had a tendency to run off on his own. It was something that his mother, his father, his brother, his mentor, Lys, Francois, Tesi, Davos, and nearly everybody else that knew him in any capacity had tried to warn him against. Don’t go throwing yourself at encounters you don’t know you can win. You don’t have to do things alone. Especially when you have allies that you can rely on. Those were words that he’d heard almost every day for the past 69 years of his life. Hell if he’d ever listened to them.

But for the first time, Sylvain wished that he had.

He’d been lucky to be awake as early as he was, and sitting outside of the samurai’s cave hideout when he was. That was the only way he was able to see the strike against Hiruma Village before the destruction and chaos had gotten too bad. His original plan had been to fly out over the village as an eagle and report back to the party what he found. But then he spotted Colonel Justus Galatea aboard his own ship, hurriedly trying to load it with as many weapons as possible before making a cowardly escape.

That wasn’t an opportunity he was willing to pass on.

At this point, nearly everybody in Eterna knew who the Bar Crawlers were. The Empire covered every city wall and bounty board with their posters, boasting of their crimes of treason and terrorism against the Empire. It was to a point that whenever the group encountered run-of-the-mill Imperial soldiers, most of them took off in a dead sprint. The group was powerful. Sylvain especially. Why else would he have been designated the Holy Champion of Helm?

That power couldn’t save him from a ship full of soldiers though.

As fast as Sylvain had been able to take them down, more seemed to come pouring out from the deck below. He was doing his best to keep up with them. But two had managed to sneak up and grab him, pinning his arms behind his back. Another quickly rushed to knock the sword out of his hands, kicking it away from him before he could do anything. Justus bent down, picking it up from the deck of his ship with a smug grin.

“Careful now. This is one of the legendary blades of justice,” Justus mocked.

Sylvain struggled against the soldiers holding him, but to no avail. “I won’t let you or your sorry excuse of a high general continue to trample on the people of Rython any longer!”

“You and what army, pretty boy?” Justus sauntered forward, a smug grin on his face. “Y’know, for one of the most ‘dangerous’ fugitives of the Empire, you sure didn’t put up much of a fight.”

“You’ll pay for this,” Sylvain growled. There was a growing pit in his stomach that sent a surge of cold through his body.

Justus laughed, throwing his head back in an over-the-top manner. The soldiers at Sylvain’s sides held him tighter as he struggled against their grasp.

"Oh how I would love to see you try, Gautier. Your cousin makes quite the fine lackey you know," Justus leaned down, going nose-to-nose with Sylvain now.

Sylvain grimaced. "Unhand me now or you'll face the wrath of the other Bar Crawlers."

"Will I now?" Justus cocked his head to the side. "It seems to me that you're here alone."

He struggled against the other soldiers once more, but it was for naught. His body already felt weak from the battle before. Justus barked out another short laugh. Then he reached for a holster on his hip, swiftly pulling a pistol out. He spun it in his hand as if it were nothing. Sylvain's face paled. He stopped resisting against the guards restraining him. Justus' mouth turned up in a coy grin.

"You like it?" he brandished the pistol inches away from Sylvain's face. "Yep. These babies have got some real power to 'em. Lemme give ya a real personal look at it."

Justus stood up straight, pressing the barrel of the gun against Sylvain's temple. Sylvain stiffened at the cool metal pressing into his skin. His gaze darted up to meet the half-elf grinning up at him.

"Any last words?" Justus said.

Sylvain narrowed his eyes, "Go to Hell."

"I'll see you there," he chuckled. Sylvain heard metal clicking as the pistol cocked.

"Say goodbye, Gautier."

[thetrishtalgem]

Whumptober 2022 Day 1: A Little Out of the Ordinary

Adverse Effects || Unconventional Restraints || "This Wasn't Supposed To Happen"

Tag List: @poetic-leigh-me @writerofscribbles @whumptober-archive

Fandom: Dungeons and Dragons (OCs)

It had been a few months since the party traveled to Surtur’s Maw and closed the infernal portal that had opened there. Doing so had saved Eldrastad and the entirety of Shiro from being destroyed by a catastrophic volcanic eruption. The Emperor himself had commended the Bar Crawlers on a job well done. An innocent town was saved. An entire continent had been saved. It was, by all accounts, a complete win.

But despite that, Sylvain felt as if his very soul had been weighed down. Matukaal had felt like a crushing defeat to him. The Holy Champion of Helm had instead been relegated to hitting a rock with his sword, and even then Sylvain still managed to miss on occasion. After their battle the fire giants permitted the party first dibs on the infernal scraps the devils had left behind. Sylvain had kept most of it with himself in the bag of holding.

The war efforts showed no signs of slowing. If anything, the magnitude of battles the party faced only seemed to grow. Numinex the dragon lord continued to desecrate the entirety of Nihon, with Drakken now serving as an undead general of his. There was a growing cult within the Empire led by a powerful patron known as “The Stranger” that seemed set on bringing the Blood War between the Hells and the Abyss to an end. The Black Hand’s strikes against Francois became more and more frequent. And then there had been the entire raid on the Vault of the Silent Legion, where Sylvain had slain the solar of his own God only for it to have been for naught. The Ruby Rod of Asmodeus wound up in The Stranger’s hands, and The Stranger revealed himself to be the Emperor of Rython.

All in all, things couldn’t be worse for the Bar Crawlers.

Sylvain kept to himself for the most part after it all happened. Most of his party members were wary to trust him after he’d used a scroll of Sending to secretly contact the Emperor about this cult. He had been afraid. He had thought he was doing the right thing when he handed over the empirical evidence they had.

And it played right into Malacode’s hands.

The nightmares Sylvain dealt with only seemed to get worse after that. Despite his surrender of the bag of holding to Tesi, he could still hear the whispers of doubt in the back of his mind. They would never trust him again. How could they? He’d deliberately betrayed every one of them. He put not only themselves in danger, but their loved ones. It was a blatant disregard of his oath. Some holy champion he was.

In the silence of the night, those whispers echoed louder than anything else in his head.

Even when he tried to go into a meditative trance, he saw the same terrible images play out in his head. Heard the same doubts play out like a hissing snake. Felt the sharpness of steel against his skin. Sylvain could never seem to chase the feeling of fatigue that followed him. Even the scars he’d gotten over a year ago seemed to ache with every movement of his body.

He had truthfully come to prefer those dreams, though.

His other nightmares had him thrown against every enemy that had stood against them before. Each time he stood with his sword in his hand, blade at the ready. Its radiant flame seemed to glow brighter than ever before. The whispers would quickly rise into a cacophony of screams.

“KILL THEM ALL! CUT THEM DOWN! SLAUGHTER THEM LIKE THE BEASTS THEY ARE! MAKE THEM FEEL WHAT IT MEANS TO INVOKE THE WRATH OF THE GODS!”

The light would burn brighter the longer the voices spoke. Sylvain could feel the anger bubble and swell in his chest. He could practically see the faces of everyone who had done the party wrong. Done him wrong. The anger would rise out of his mouth in deranged laughter as he would blindly swing his sword. With each strike he felt, the feeling only grew. Consuming him until he was left kneeling on the barren ground, staring at the carnage around him. Laughing along with the voices.

Those sorts of visions were what kept him up these past few nights.

He leaned over the side railing of the Inn Strider’s deck. Waves crashed against the battered wooden hull, sending a gentle spray of salt water up and into his face on occasion. His hands were folded together as he stared out into the endless night’s expanse. So much ahead of the Bar Crawlers was one big question. It made it difficult to plan for their next move. Especially when they had enemies coming from seemingly every direction.

“Sylvain.”

Sylvain turned his head to see Laila standing behind him. Her long silver hair was unbraided for a change, practically glowing in the pale moonlight. The breeze of the deck ruffled the bottom hem of her shirt. He stood upright and turned fully to face her.

“Laila,” he said. “I-I’m sorry. Did I wake you?”

Laila waved a hand dismissively, “It doesn’t matter. What are you doing up here?”

“I just…needed some fresh air. I suppose,” Sylvain answered.

Laila smiled gently. She took a few sauntering steps forward before reaching out for him. Her arms wrapped around his waist and she buried her face into his chest. Somewhat hesitantly, Sylvain put his arms around her.

“Mind if I stay up here then? I miss having you next to me,” Laila glanced up at Sylvain pleadingly. Her right hand began to trace idle patterns against his chest.

Sylvain laughed softly, “I can’t say no to you.”

Laila grinned. Gently she began to pull Sylvain down to sit on the deck of the ship. He obliged with no resistance, pulling her into his lap and cradling her gently. The two sat together, the cresting waves the only sound for a while.

“Tell me what’s wrong, baby,” Laila finally broke the silence.

Sylvain looked down at her, caught off guard. “Huh?”

“You’re tense. And you make these whimpering noises whenever you fall asleep,” she answered quietly. “You know you can wake me up if you can’t fall asleep. Right?”

“There’s no point in both of us being awake,” Sylvain dismissed.

“There is if I can help you, Sylvain. You just have to let me,” Laila pressed him.

“You can’t. It’s…it’s too much for you to try to take on,” Sylvain protested.

Laila pulled back to look Sylvain in the eye, “Maybe. Maybe not. You’ll never know if you don’t talk to me.”

It doesn’t matter.

“It doesn’t matter,” Sylvain echoed the whisper without thinking. “I’m not gonna bother you with it, okay?”

“It isn’t ‘bothering me’ if I offer it to you. You blockhead,” Laila teased. She playfully punched Sylvain in the arm.

“Laila, please. I don’t want to argue about this,” Sylvain sighed in exasperation. “You don’t need more of my shit weighing you down.”

Laila rolled her eyes. She placed a hand on his hip before leveling a serious look at him, “Sylvain Gautier, I know exactly what I got myself into when I agreed to be your girlfriend.

It’s not her burden to bear.

“It’s not your burden to bear.”

Laila’s brows furrowed together. Sylvain felt her grip on his lower waist tighten, fingers curling around something. She glanced down quickly before redirecting her gaze back to his.

“Sylvain,” she spoke calmly despite the worry shining in her eyes. “What…what is that? In your pocket?”

Curious now himself, Sylvain shifted to reach into his pocket. His fingers curled around a warm, circular piece of metal. He pulled it out of his pocket, turning the soul coin over in his fingers for a moment. Laila reached for it, taking it from his hands. The moment that the coin left him, Sylvain felt a weight lift from his shoulders. His aches and worries suddenly seemed to roll off of him. At the same time, he watched Laila’s face almost instantly darken.

“Laila, don’t-,” he reached forward, but she held the coin just out of his reach.

“What is this thing?” Laila whispered.

“It’s a soul coin. We found them back in Surtur’s Maw,” Sylvain took the coin from her hands. As he did, he felt the crushing weight settle back on his shoulders.

Laila stared at him in disbelief. “That was at least three months ago, Syl. You’ve been carrying it with you this whole time?”

“Well, yeah. I just thought…” Sylvain trailed off as he flipped the coin between his fingers. “I don’t know. The others can’t carry them all, and I feel like it’s my duty to help shield them from it.”

“Sylvain, you don’t need to be carrying that thing. I mean, why do you even have it?”

You can’t leave me alone don’t leave me alone never leave me alone-,

“I can’t leave them alone,” he answered with a noncommittal shrug. “I-I dunno. We carry around a lot of weird shit.”

“Them?”

“Yeah. I…sometimes, it’s like I hear someone talking to me. In my head.”

Laila pulled completely away from Sylvain. She looked at him in a combination of worry and disbelief. Sylvain felt his face suddenly beginning to burn.

“Wh-what?” he asked defensively.

Laila's expression softened ever so slightly, “You’re a good person, hon. But damn if you aren’t an idiot sometimes. You don't need to be carrying around something so…cursed.”

Sylvain opened his mouth to respond, but found the words stuck in his throat. Cursed. He held the coin in both hands, staring at it with a gaze that seemed like he wanted to bore a hole through it. Sylvain closed his eyes, concentrating his holy magic into the tips of his fingers.

“Be set free,” he murmured.

Slowly he opened his eyes. He watched the infernal runes on the coin glow a bright red. The metal grew hot in his hands, so much so that he had to drop the coin onto the deck of the ship. Laila instinctively wrapped her arms around Sylvain as the coin rattled on the ground. From its center rose a vague spectral form bound in glowing red chains. The runes on the coin burned brighter. As they did, the chains surrounding the form seemed to as well before one burst into tiny specs of red arcane light. One infernal rune from the coin disappeared. Sylvain and Laila watched as the other chains began to disappear. With one final, blinding flash of light, they saw the specter’s form in detail.

Floating about five feet off the ground was a dwarven man. Despite his translucent and barely visible form, Sylvain could see a grizzled face looking back at him. There was a tense moment where nothing else seemed to happen. Then the form before them gave a warm smile.

There was a faint whisper in the back of Sylvain’s mind as the wind seemingly blew the form away.

Thank you, Sylvain.

As he stared into the empty space in front of him, Sylvain felt light. As if the burden had been lifted from his very soul. He felt Laila’s grip tighten around him a little.

“Sylvain?” she called to him quietly.

He glanced down quickly and gave her a soft smile. He held her tighter, carefully standing up with her still in his arms.

“C’mon,” he whispered. “I think it’s time we go to bed.”

[thetrishtalgem]

Whumptober 2022 Day 7: The Way You Shake and Shiver

Shaking Hands || Seizures || Silent Panic Attack

Miklan deals with one of his brother's earliest escapades as a rebel of the Empire, and his nerves get the better of him.

Tag List: @poetic-leigh-me @writerofscribbles @whumptober-archive

Fandom: Dungeons and Dragons (OCs)

One mug turned to two, two mugs turned to three, three turned to four. Miklan was having fun. Sure, sitting at a bar was no Imperial prison raid, but he was enjoying himself. His whole body felt warm and light. Captain Steel Ass’s stories seemed to grow taller with each swig of mead. Miklan’s ears flushed as he laughed with each joke, gasped at each twist, and sat on the very edge of his seat. A few other patrons had gathered around the table at this point to listen to the regales of the Captain.

Then suddenly, the doors to Lilith’s Tavern swung open with a jarring sound. A hush settled over the entire tavern as two Imperial Guards marched in through the doors. Miklan could feel the weight of his armor bearing down on his body. The Imperial Guards seemed more like monsters, suddenly. Subconsciously, he curled his fingers around the mug in his hands as he tried to steady himself. They were just people. He had to remind himself of that.

“Everyone, out of the bar and back to your homes!” One guard shouted in a grizzly voice.

“What…” Miklan slurred but felt a firm hand grasp his arm. He turned to see Laila shushing him quietly. Even in the warm lighting of the tavern, she suddenly looked pale.

Captain Steel Ass stood from his chair, a bit wobbly on his feet. He reached a hand out to Miklan. “Come on, kid. I think it oughta be time we took this back to the ship.”

Miklan nodded. He watched the two guards march up to the counter and knock a glass over the bar. It shattered on the floor, right in front of Lilith. Anger flared red in his vision. His fingers wrapped around the hilt of his long sword. Captain Steel Ass bumped into him roughly breaking through his seething anger.

“Let’s go. Now.” Captain Steel Ass’s voice was a harsh whisper. Miklan’s grip loosened around the blade as he strained to hear the conversation at the front of the bar. But all he could hear was the blood rushing in his ears.

The night air was too cold on his skin. He looked around to see that most of the streets had cleared of people. Vendors were closing up their shops and hurriedly looking around. Miklan had never seen such a swarm of Imperial Guards shutting down the city. He felt his chest grow tight.

“Everyone, return to your homes. There is nothing to be alarmed of. The security breach is being handled.”

Miklan felt his blood run cold.

‘Sylvain...what’s going on? What are you doing?’

“It’s going to be alright, kiddo,” Captain Steel Ass tried to assure him. “We’ll go back to the boat, and have a couple more mugs of mead together. What do you say?”

Miklan nodded his head, but nothing seemed to be processing. All he could think about was his brother’s safety.

Four mugs turned to five. Five turned to six. Six turned to seven. And when seven turned to eight, the mead didn’t taste as good anymore.

Miklan couldn’t tell if it was the alcohol that made him numb or his fear. He stared down at the mug in front of him with vacant, empty eyes. That’s when he noticed the tremor in the liquid. He wasn’t sure when his hands had started to shake . But the more he thought about what could be going on in the Imperial prison, and where his brother might have been, he felt the shakes spread through his entire body.

A large, scaly hand gently rested on his shoulder. He turned to look at Rook with watery eyes.

“Where is he? He should’ve been...back by now…” Miklan trailed off. He could feel the tears threatening to spill, but he didn’t particularly care. All he wanted was his big brother back, safe and sound.

Rook shook his head. “I don’t know. But I’m certain that he’ll be fine. Have faith in him.”

Without another word, Rook headed to the cabin doors of the ship. He turned to Miklan with a final glance before heading below deck. “You should get to bed. Staying up all night worrying will do you no good.”

“I will,” Miklan lied. He stared at the mug again, finishing the last swig up. There was something about the way that it burned his throat as it went down that made him feel sick to his stomach.

Eight hours had turned to nine. Nine had turned to ten. Ten turned to eleven. And the next thing he knew, Miklan awoke to the sun breaking over the horizon. The waves crashed against the side of the boat, drowning out the idle chatter of sailors and the bustle of Imperial Guards at the harbor. He felt the beginnings of a hangover pounding in his head and an ache in his back from sleeping on deck. But his eyes scanned the harbor for any signs of his brother.

He saw a flash of bright orange hair, but felt his heart sink as he watched the ship maiden toss her hair over her shoulder and laugh loudly. A voice called out over the harbor, and Miklan’s head whipped around only to see a guard overseeing an Imperial shipment. Every noise echoed too loud in his head, and every face seemed so unfamiliar. Miklan began to wonder if Sylvain and Lys had made it out alive.

They had to. He couldn’t bear the thought of his brother being tortured to death.

His shaking hands only subsided when he saw Sylvain entering the port. Immediately Miklan shot up on the boat. He wanted to run to his brother, more than anything. But the presence of the Imperial Guards made his blood run cold. He gripped at the fabric of his shirt to keep his hands from trembling again, though it did no good.

As soon as Sylvain stepped onto the boat, Miklan lurched forward. He wrapped his arms around Sylvain as tightly as he could. He ran through the name of every God he knew of and thanked each an every one of them for keeping his brother safe through the whole ordeal.

And finally, Miklan felt his hands stop shaking.

[thetrishtalgem]

Whumptober Day 10: Poor Unfortunate Souls

Taser || Whipping || Waterboarding

A year after the disappearance of Emperor Malacode and the Bar Crawlers, Miklan finally makes a breakthrough in the search for his brother.

Tag List: @poetic-leigh-me @writerofscribbles @whumptober-archive

Fandom: Dungeons and Dragons (OCs)

It had been almost a year since Emperor Malacode's disappearance.

Things in Rython had quickly fallen to chaos. Empress Taravena and Princess Kalia vanished without a trace as well, leaving no successors to the Imperial throne left. The remaining Barons and Baronesses of the various provinces struggled to keep peace in their own territories. They had tried to maintain an alliance of sorts at first, primarily headed by Baron Ronan of Altrus. But whispers quickly spread of his ties to the rebellion before the chaos, and he was swiftly removed from further council meetings. From there most of the leaders turned back to helping their own citizens. Others had to fight against invaders and pillagers now that the Imperial Army had disbanded. In a lot of ways, it almost seemed that things had gotten worse.

But what Miklan found most concerning were the rumors of what happened to the Bar Crawlers.

Most people assumed that the Bar Crawlers, as the most notable rebel group in the Empire's history, would have taken the opportunity to grab the throne the moment it seemed anything was amiss with the Emperor. But there was a piercing silence from them as well. Rebels across the continent whispered amongst each other about when the group may return. Some thought that they were waiting for the right moment to strike and help bring the people together again. Some believed they had slain Malacode themselves, only to have been killed in the process. Others had long since abandoned hope that they would ever return. Despite the growing likelihood of that rumor being true, Miklan held on to any shred of hope that he could find.

He'd remembered the day that Sylvain told him and their parents that his battles were going to take him into the Hells. Their mother could hardly keep herself together. Their father even had a grim expression on his face. Both of them had pleaded with Sylvain not to go, but all of them knew it was futile. Whenever Sylvain had his mind set on something, he was going to see it through to the end. His end or otherwise. And so Miklan had kept a brave face on despite the worry that gnawed at him like maggots. It only got worse with each day that passed. Miklan watched as his parents grew wearier and wearier with worry. Some days his mother refused to eat or sleep, she was so sick with worry.

But he'd finally had a breakthrough.

He and Arveene had been tracking rumors of a pair of strange travellers. One was a human that was quite the capable mage. He carried a staff that bore the crest of an Archmage of the Grand Archive yet claimed no connection to the organization. Travelling with him was a curious elven man who seemed frightened of everything around him. He didn't speak but for occasional shouts of anger or terror. Instead, he depended completely on the human he travelled with. Miklan and Arveene had offered to trail the pair as some of the rebellion's best remaining scouts. Their investigation and research taught them that the elven man was tall and a bit muscular, with longer orange hair that seemed barely maintained and piercing lavender eyes.

It was too much of a coincidence to be true. But Miklan didn't want to believe it.

Yet it was impossible to deny as he stood before Archmage Marcus Titus of the Grand Archive in tattered and filthy nobleman's clothes. Marcus had nearly jumped out of his skin when Miklan first approached and asked him about the elven man that traveled with him. Marcus had nearly burst into tears as soon as the words left his mouth.

"I-I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry," he stuttered. "I would have found you sooner but it was so difficult, since we'd never met before."

Marcus had warned Miklan that he wouldn't be ready for the state that Sylvain was in.

But nothing could have prepared him for what he saw.

The man standing in front of him certainly shared physicalities with Sylvain. He had the same hair, the same facial structure, the same height. Yet Miklan found himself hardly able to describe the person before him as a person. The man's eyes were sunken and sallow, darting almost everywhere around him. He flinched at nearly everything. His frame was thin, like he was slowly withering away. He stayed hunched over, curling in on himself.

"Syl…?" Miklan's voice was weak.

He took a hesitant step forward and watched in disbelief as the man in front of him recoiled, absolute fear overtaking his expression.

"It's okay, it's okay, Sylvain," Marcus soothed him. "He's not gonna hurt you, okay? He's family. Fa-mi-ly."

"Faah…fah-muh-lee?" Sylvain looked at Marcus.

Marcus nodded, a weary smile on his face. "Yes, Sylvain. Family."

Sylvain looked at Miklan with wide eyes. He slowly turned his head back to Marcus and pointed a single finger at him. Marcus nodded his head.

"Yeah. He's…he's kind of like me," he answered. "He'll help you because he's your brother. He cares about you."

Sylvain turned back to look at Miklan. "Br…bruuuh…bruh…bruh-bruh."

"Sylvain…" Miklan felt like his voice was going to give out.

He stepped forward, wrapping his arms slowly around the man standing in front of him. The shell of his brother. Sylvain stiffened for a moment, but then Miklan felt Sylvain wrap his arms awkwardly around the smaller boy. Miklan thought for a while that the tears might never stop. He had wanted so badly for his brother to be okay. To be alive, at the very least.

Now, he wasn't so sure that was for the best anymore.

"Bruh-bruh," Sylvain babbled.

Miklan let out a choked laugh, "Yeah. That's me."

"He had this with him, when I found him," Marcus held out a rolled piece of parchment. "You'll want to read this later."

Miklan nodded his head, taking the paper wordlessly as he held onto his brother for dear life.

…

To whomever reads this:

My name is Sylvain Eldrin Gautier. I am the oldest son of Elaria and Blythe Gautier, older brother to Miklan Gautier, member of the Bar Crawlers, and Champion of Helm.

If you learned this from reading this letter, then it means the rest of my party members are gone.

We were foolish. We didn't know who we were dealing with. In our defense, we thought we were doing the right thing. There seemed to be no other avenue in dealing with the Ruby Rod. It is an artifact of pure evil, and better for the world if it were destroyed. But everyone we turned to said it was impossible to get rid of it. Instead it would need to be sequestered away somewhere that no one could ever be corrupted by it nor tempted by the power it holds. This seemed like the only thing we could do. Perhaps I should start from the beginning.

After we raided the Vault of the Silent Legion and had the Ruby Rod stolen from us, we were contacted by an ancient and evil being. The Sea Devil himself, Marius Bermuda. He wanted us to retrieve the rod for him to store in his vault, away from mortal hands. Such an artifact would not corrupt a being with his alignment the way it had eaten away at Tamriel. He offered us various boons in exchange for this contract. And as collateral, we were to offer him our souls. They weren't to be taken unless we willingly went against his wishes or the contract.  My party thought this to be a fair trade. And so I went along with them, under the condition that my memory be used instead of my soul.

I won't know what happened that I am left in this state. All I can say is somehow, someway, we angered a very powerful being. If I am left a shell with no memory, then it means the other Bar Crawlers had their souls taken. They are gone.

I know not what the state of things will be in Rython if we do not return. But I should share what truths I know while I still can.

Baron Ren Gautier was murdered by Bran Cassian and replaced by Leiron Ostoroth for raising a rebel faction of bladesinger wizards. His disdain for the Empire was rewritten as madness, to assure that none follow in his footsteps.

My grandfather, Gael Gautier, was murdered Inquisitor Xera for his involvement in the rebel attack lead by Baron Ren Gautier.

Emperor Malacode is no longer a mortal. He completed some sort of ritual to transform himself to an Arch Devil.

There is a cult known as the Order of the Talon that seeks out the power to overthrow Asmodeus as the ruler of the Hells and destroy the demonic forces of the Abyss to bring the Blood War to an end. Their patron is Emperor Malacode. Whatever happens, he has to be stopped. No words could accurately describe the chaos this world would fall to if that came to pass.

I ask one last favor of whomever is reading this. All I can hope is you take pity on this poor unfortunate soul. Find my family. Tell them what happened to me. What happened to the Bar Crawlers. And tell them I am sorry, beyond comprehension. No words will ever do it justice.

Sincerely,

Sylvain Eldrin Gautier

[thetrishtalgem]

D&D Character Profiles: War for Rython

300 years ago, Emperor Malacode rose to power and unified all the provinces of Rython under one banner. The land was happy and at peace, until the Bar Crawlers began to unravel a millenia-old plan to aid Infernal armies in the Blood War against the Abyss.

My recent writing escapades have made me realize I should probably offer some insight into the characters I've been using and their campaign. ^^;

All character art/models in this post were created using HeroForge!

Characters

Sylvain Gautier, 69 (he/they)

High Elf || Charlatan || Oath of Brotherhood Paladin || Lawful Neutral || My PC

Born to the disgraced noble Gautier family, Sylvain grew up in the humble Nair’s Village and worked as a farmer. His parents were able to keep themselves afloat compared to the much larger Nair’s Plantation by selling the Gautier special crop: marijuana. Sylvain always longed for a better life for his family, and so he set out on his journey to bring pride to his family name. Along the way, he was chosen by Helm as a holy champion. He wears his heart on his sleeve and is fiercely loyal, but has a tendency to throw himself headfirst into situations without leaning on the rest of his party.

Lys Vesna, 23 (she/her)

Human || Noble || College of Lore Bard/Grave Cleric || Chaotic Good || @poetic-leigh-me

Lys was adopted by the noble elven Vesna family as an infant. Despite their best efforts to groom her into a “proper lady”, Lys instead became the “black sheep” of the family as a constant source of disgrace to their heritage. She escaped the manor when she was 18, choosing instead to play her instruments for lodging and use her charm when necessary to get what she needed. Since embarking on her journey, she has found faith in Kelemvor and learned the tragic truth of her birth. Having gone mad with grief, her father, Cyrus Cassian, turned to dark cult magic to resurrect her mother and herself from the dead. She had since been given to the Vesnas to be raised in a safe environment and kept away from the evil her father dabbled in. Fortunately, Lys was very persuasive in convincing her father to abandon his ties with the cult he found himself entangled with.

Francois, mid-20’s (he/him)

Human || Criminal || Assassin Rogue || Chaotic Neutral

The most secretive of all the Bar Crawlers, Francois keeps his history close to his chest. Despite his secretiveness, Francois is one of the most down-to-earth and sweetest members of the party. He was once a member of the criminal organization the Black Hand, but left after realizing a part of their dealings was in slave trade. He has since been chased by multiple assassins of the group after coming to the realization that their leader is a Beholder. The party is currently working towards overthrowing Kornan and reestablishing the Black Hand as a more ethically aligned criminal organization. Well, as much as one can be.

Montgomery “Monty” Montgomery, late-20’s (he/him)

Half-Elf || Outlander || Beastmaster Ranger/Mastermind Rogue || Chaotic Good

More often without a shirt than with, Monty is the bastard child of the Jarl of Verstad and an elven woman he recalls only in fleeting memory. He and his wolf companion, Marty, parted ways with the rest of the party upon docking in the port of Verstad. He has since worked as the first mate aboard the party’s ship the Inn Strider and joins the battle whenever called upon.

Davos Spellfire, late-20’s (Deceased) (he/him)

Dragonborn || Sage || Abjuration Wizard || Chaotic Neutral

Born in the capital city of the Drakken Wastes, Davos’ life was colored with sorrow and pain. His parents turned murderous against each other over the dark artifact Myrkul’s Talon and he was framed at the age of 13 for their deaths. Since that day he sought out the power necessary to overthrow the entire Redwater clan for their true involvement in the death of his parents. It was his own vengeful tendencies that led to his ultimate downfall.

Reiki Tesindri “Tesi” Quinn, 58 (she/her)

Kalashtar || Spy || Way of the Cobalt Soul Monk || Lawful Neutral

Previously a member of the Empire's most secretive and elite force of soldiers, Tesi was taken at birth with her older sister song and trained to be a killer. She broke free of the Inquisition's hold after realizing the truth of what they were and living in secrecy for a time. It had seemed she was completely free of their ties for a time, until her wife Farah suddenly fell ill and died. Tesi has since wandered Rython seeking ways to aid the people and right her wrongs. Her escapades with the Bar Crawlers have recently revealed that she has a younger sister and that her parents are still alive.

[thetrishtalgem]

Whumptober 2022 Day 2: Nowhere to Run

Cornered || Caged || Confrontation

Sylvain finally gets the chance to speak to his second cousin again after learning the truth about the Empire's involvement with Infernal activity.

Tag List: @poetic-leigh-me @writerofscribbles @whumptober-archive

Fandom: Dungeons and Dragons (OCs)

Sylvain stepped down into the cargo hold of the Inn Strider, surveying the scene before him. The crew had since installed a small brig on the lower deck of the ship after the first encounter the party had with the Imperial Knight. Cyrric was yet again the ship’s inaugural prisoner in their hold. Instead of barrels and ropes keeping him bound this time, he was shackled to the wall of the ship with iron manacles keeping his hands behind his back. Monty was sitting atop a barrel just outside of the metal bars with Marty curled up at his feet. The wolf picked his head up and thumped his tail a few times against the deck of the ship as he saw Sylvain approach.

Monty glanced up at Sylvain, “You gonna wake him up?”

“Yeah,” Sylvain answered, his tone grim.

“Shout if you need us,” Monty replied. He snapped his fingers once. Marty slowly stood up, stretching before following his master out and onto the top deck.

Sylvain stared into the cell for a moment, his chest tight as he looked at the unconscious body before him. Cyrric was his family. Distant family, albeit, but that didn’t change that they were both related. Both of them were Gautiers.

But Cyrric clearly didn’t know what that meant.

Almost as if on cue, Cyrric began to stir in the cell. He groaned as he opened his eyes, taking a moment to adjust to his new surroundings.

“What the fuck…” Cyrric grumbled before his eyes seemed to focus on Sylvain and his entire expression darked. “You-,”

“Cyrric Gautier. You were born to Gael and Faen Gautier in Valorum, where your parents work as merchants. At age 16, you were enlisted in the Imperial Army. That was where you rose through the ranks as a zealot and a warrior,” Sylvain interrupted.

Cyrric’s eyebrows furrowed, “The fuck are you going on about?”

“I took your advice,” Sylvain pulled the barrel out that Monty was sitting on and lowered himself on it so he could be facing Cyrric. “I read a book.”

“La di fuckin’ da. Didn’t know you could read,” Cyrric hissed.

“Do you know what the Gautier family crest stands for?”

“You think I’m a fuckin’ idiot? It means honor, and pride, and-,”

“The fox represents cunning, and intelligence. It is a refusal to be captured. To fall prey to lies and propaganda,” Sylvain leaned forward so that his face was mere inches away from the bars of Cyrric’s cell. “Doesn’t quite sound like you, does it?”

Cyrric growled, lurching forward against his restraints to get in Sylvain’s face. “Fuck you.”

“You only have yourself to blame, Cyrric.”

“If you fought with any semblance of honor, you would have lost to me. If it had been a fair fight, I would have killed you. Slaughtered you like the traitor you are.”

“I never said that you couldn’t rely on the allies you had around you. That was your choice. Then again, how could you trust your ‘allies’ when they’re devils?”

“Of course you would say that. You think you know everything, don’t you? All because you’re some sort of ‘holy champion’ of the gods!?”

“You have no idea the war you’ve gotten yourself into!” Sylvain shouted. He stood from the barrel and paced back and forth in front of the cell. “You’ve allowed yourself to become blinded by all the bullshit that the Empire has fed you your entire life. You’ve let yourself believe that Malacode is some sort of God because he ‘gave you a chance’. Do you know what’s going to happen when you’re not of use to him? What will happen to your parents when they become useless in his new world order?”

He stopped, turning to face Cyrric, “He will throw you out. Enslave you worse than he already has. He’ll let you burn the moment he knows that you can’t be manipulated by him anymore.”

“Keep his name out of your mouth, traitor!” Cyrric growled.

He lurched against the chains again, the rusted iron scraping against itself the only sound that seemed to cut through the pounding in Sylvain’s ears. Sylvain stood up straight and turned away from the cell for a moment.

“I wanted to believe in you,” he muttered quietly. “I wanted to think that you didn’t know the extent of what was going on. If you did, how could you have gone through with it?”

“Because-,”

“I’m not interested in hearing your excuses!” Sylvain snapped.

Cyrric scowled, seemingly frozen in place. Anger bubbled in Sylvain’s chest the longer he stared at his cousin. The fringes of his vision seemed to turn red.

“You are not a Gautier, Cyrric. You don’t know what it means to be a Gautier,” he finally found the resolve to speak again, voice even, “Because if you did, this isn’t the path you would’ve walked. But I guess that’s only natural for you, isn’t it? To disgrace our family’s honor?”

He leaned down to meet Cyrric’s gaze. “Just. Like. Your. Grandmother.”

Cyrric’s scowl suddenly seemed to crack. His upper lip relaxed. His complexion grew more pale. This close, Sylvain could see the tears welling up in his eyes. But he didn’t linger. Instead, Sylvain stood up straight and turned away, heading for the upper deck of the Inn Strider without a word.