#dazens notebook

[himbopunk]

i don't remember if i ever posted this sketchy comic thing on here but i can't find it on my blog so i'll assume not.

this was gonna be a longer comic but i turned it into a fic instead :p i'm gonna try to write/draw out some of my sid playthrough snippets maybe. mostly write them with the occasional little comic page i think. you can read the first chapter (the extension of This sketch comic) over here!!

[himbopunk]

crash course in first aid [ao3]

[also on toyhouse ig] one shot, 4.5k words, original work! (sandbox oc setting)

back to doing silver city stuff except its for the roleswap alt tl so kinda? not really LMAO. whatever its ocs though

ft (hero au) yuvan + @cowboyvillainz and @cowboysuperhero 's swapguys

snippet time

“That’s insane, Yuvan.” He doesn’t share the fact that he’s seen Sharpshooter do the same thing after a particularly nasty fight as he helps them sit on the edge of the tub. “Insane’s pretty funny, coming from you.” Ace rolls his eyes, but doesn’t protest. He’s right on the money, really. “Exactly!!!” Ace exclaims. Yuvan sort-of laughs at that, the noise just as wet and painful sounding as before. “Stop making me laugh, please.” He pleads. “I’m not trying to! My distress shouldn’t be funny!” “I dunno, it’s a little funny.” Yuvan’s smiling, and Ace finds himself wondering just how much blood he’s lost.

[himbopunk]

How would my oc greet you at different levels of approval?

Part 1/?: Yuvan Sikari

Low

What do you want?

Great, it's you.

Ugh.

[Inquisition] (Shit, they saw me.)

Neutral

Hm?

Oh, hey.

[Inquisition] Whatever it was, it's Krem's fault. Probably.

[Veilguard] I don't know where Mav is, sorry.

High

Hey, look who it is.

Was wondering when you'd show up.

Need something? Consider it done.

[Inquisition] Whatever you need, just don't tell [Bull/Leliana interchangeably] I was here.

[Inquisition] Surprised you're still here, Inquisitor. Surely you have better things to do than chat with me all day.

[Veilguard] Oh, hey, Mav and I were just talking about you. What'd you need?

[Veilguard] Hey, Rook. What can I do for you?

Romance

(Please don't have blood on my face again.) Hey, what'd you need?

Oh, perfect, just who I wanted to see.

Huh. You really do make it look effortless. What's up?

You know, we should take a break together after this. First thing’s first, though.

[Inquisition] People will talk, you know. Not that I care.

[Veilguard] Hey, Rook. You know I've always got time for you.

[himbopunk]

drabble i did of thorne and emmrich. dialogue heavy like all my datv stuff is for some reason. its not crazy long so you can go to the ao3 or just. read under the cut

CW: child death

“No, Manfred, this is a journal, not a memoir. It belongs in its proper section with the others.”

Emmrich picked a small hand-bound book from his shelf and handed it to his skeletal assistant, gesturing towards the correct section. Manfred made an affirmative hissing sound, before shambling towards the correct spot in the library. He had been giving a once-over to some of the shelves, making sure they were in proper order. While Manfred was fairly good at following organizational instructions, sometimes he needed a bit of a nudge or reminder. He was still learning, after all.

There was a soft knock on the door, causing Emmrich to turn his attention from the shelves. A large, red-bearded Qunari man stood in the doorframe, holding a small tray with a teapot and two cups in one hand. Iktom– or Rook, as the team all knew him– meets Emmrich’s eyes with his own singular functioning eye, and smiles.

“Hope I’m not interrupting anything?” Though the other man’s voice came from a place deep in his chest, it was often much softer than most expect from a man of his stature. 

“Not at all! Manfred and I were simply doing some re-organizing. I can take a moment.”

“Good, ‘cause I brought you that tea from Rivain you asked about.” Iktom stepped into the room with the tray. Emmrich swiftly moved a couple of texts from his side table from his morning reading so that Iktom could set it down. He could smell cinnamon, cardamom, cloves and other spices in the unique Rivaini blend wafting up as he did.

“Oh, wonderful. I cannot wait to try this! I’d had something similar in a Tevinter blend once, but the teas in Rivain are simply unparalleled.”

“True. I can’t say much, though, I only grew up with the medicinal stuff that tastes awful. My father would swear by this terrible tea with a shot of whiskey every time I caught a cold. I…don’t actually know the trade language word for the plant, it only grows in the mountains.”

“Would you be able to point it out if you saw it?”

“Hm… probably?”

“That’s perfect, then! I have a series on plants and herbs of the High Anderfels and the Donnarks, perhaps we can take a look later. I’d be curious to find out.”

“Long as you don’t ask me to take any once you do.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it!”

“Good.” He smiles, as Emmrich pours himself a cup of tea. “This should be much better than that, though. If I brewed it right, anyhow. Maker knows Lucanis was no help.”

“Ah yes. As I’ve come to learn, the man detests tea, unfortunately. I suppose there’s no accounting for taste.”

“True. And I won’t lie, I like coffee too, but he takes it a bit far for me. Not sure if that’s an Antivan thing, a Crow thing, or a Lucanis thing.”

“Hard to say, and I doubt it’d be much easier with his reliance on it to avoid Spite.” Emmrich lifts the cup to his mouth, blowing on it slightly to help cool it before taking a sip.

“S’alright. More for you, right?” Iktom watches carefully as the other man tastes his tea. “How is it?” 

“Absolutely delightful , Rook. You brewed this wonderfully.” Beyond the temperature, the tea tasted warm, comforting, with a slight smokiness to it. The milk used in it was just slightly sweet, unmistakable but not too much as to be obtrusive to the other flavors present. 

“Oh, good. Good.” The other man seemed relieved, finally lifting his own cup to try himself. “Seer Rowan told me how to do it, since you make it over the fire instead of steeping it in the cup. I’d never done it like that before.”

“The qunari seer from the Lords, yes? Taash has mentioned her before, I believe. I’ll have to remember to thank her when we next travel to the Hall of Valor. Perhaps she has more recommendations on Rivaini tea blends, as well!”

“Ha, maybe. I’m sure you two could talk shop a bit too, Seers seem a bit more like the Watchers than most other mages I’ve met. Save maybe some of the ones from Tevinter.”

“True! We’ve had more than our fair share of young Altus mages visit the Necropolis, but truth be told, while I’ve read as many writings out of the Dairsmuid circle as I could find in my studies, I’ve not encountered many Seers myself.”

“They’d be considered abominations back home, probably. Depending where you’re at.” Iktom shrugs a bit. “But we should set up a meeting. I can see if the Lords need any help while we’re out there.”

“I’m sure it doesn’t hurt that you have an excuse to return to the Halls of Valor.” Emmrich eyebrows raise from over his cup as he takes another sip of his tea.

“No clue what you’re talking about, Emm.” Iktom smirks as he leans back in his chair a bit. Emmrich places his cup back down, giving the other man a knowing glance.

“Well, either way, simply let me know and I’d be delighted to accompany you the next time you leave for Rivain.”

“Will do.” Iktom gives a small nod. “I’ll probably have to head out to Hossberg soon, but after that, we should have a moment.”

“Do let me know if you need any assistance there, as well.”

“‘Course. I’ll see what it is that Antoine and Evka need, first. I’m sure it’ll be mostly fighting darkspawn, maybe taking some notes for Antoine about the blight changes.”

“Such is the life of a Warden, it seems!”

“True. But, hey, I’ll never say no to you watching my back.” Iktom winks, before topping off the tea in Emmrich’s cup. The entendre occurs to Emmrich immediately, but he barely acknowledges it aside from a slight eyebrow raise.

“Well, you know where to find me, Rook.” 

“I do.” Emmrich can see him smiling even behind the cup as he brings his tea to his mouth again. 

The conversation lulls, but there’s no strong need to fill the silence for some time. There wasn’t even the distant eager hissing of Manfred, as he had no current duties to attend to in the library, he left the room awhile ago. Likely to watch the wisps in Neve’s room or to go say hi to Spite. It would be a good while yet before he felt the need to worry about him. Right now, the two men simply enjoy their quiet moment in the library together, drinking their tea. 

While Emmrich understood the team’s need to constantly be pushing forward towards some goal or another, he couldn’t help but appreciate the moments of calm they were able to have from time to time. Iktom’s life was very exciting, as was seeing the man in his element, on the battlefield. But there was something about seeing the large man, all but built for war, speaking softly in the library, taking the time to walk through the gardens with him or brew a pot of tea he’s never made before, simply because he remembered Emmrich’s curiosity towards it. A man whose life is now largely defined by the dreadful end post, slowing down amidst the chaos. It warmed him to Emmrich, much like the tea had.

Eventually the tea would dry up. Emmrich considered opening a book to read while still enjoying the other’s company, when he spoke up.

“Emm, I’ve been thinking about what we talked about, in the gardens. If you have…the place of mind to discuss it.”

Emmrich’s mind wanders for a moment, as they’d talked for a good hour or so that night. He imagines the subject to be one of two things, however. And while he’s not thrilled with the discussion of either, he’s in a state that he could weather it.

“Of course, Rook. May I ask what exactly it is you find yourself revisiting?”

“You asked me about death, what I felt about it, after telling me your…” He pauses for a moment, searching for the best way to describe Emmrich’s thanatophobia. “...Concerns?” It comes out more like a question, is this the polite way to discuss this?

“Ah, yes.” Emmrich nods, inviting him to continue the thought.

“I’ve been thinking about it the past couple days, and well. My answer was kind of bullshit, right?” Well, that is not the line of thought Emmrich had expected here, but he’s learning that he should know better than think he can predict Iktom’s mind. 

“Not intentionally, mind you, I didn’t lie or nothin’. It’s just– You caught me off guard, you know.”

Emmrich’s been aware of the…cultural divide between him and the rest of the team. But…no, Iktom’s been surprisingly accepting of the Necropolis. But he is a Warden, Emmrich realizes, it wouldn’t be unfounded that he would have his own hangups with death. Had he brushed upon a sore spot, without realizing?

“Rook, I apologize if I–” Iktom puts his hand up, cutting him off.

“No need, you did nothing wrong. You asked a very real question, and I just figure you deserved a real answer. Least, one more real than what I’d said then. Especially considering what all you’d shared with me, right?”

“You’re not obligated to answer than you’re able, Rook, but I do appreciate the sentiment.” Iktom momentarily looked confused, as if the idea that he wouldn’t share in the same way Emmrich had was a preposterous suggestion. “But… go on, if you wish. What would your real answer be?”

Iktom re-adjusted himself in the chair, sitting up more straight, taking a breath before he continued. There was an element of practice to it, as if he’d thought very hard or rehearsed what he wanted to say, to make things easier. It was a bit endearing.

“So, alright, yeah. Everything dies, that’s the nature of things, that’s true. Like I said, I didn’t lie, I do feel that way…to some extent. But I don’t think that’s fair, ‘cause that didn’t come to me naturally, right? It took me a long while to get there. Sometimes I half wonder if I’m as there as I think I am. It’s not…consistent, right? Being a Warden, though, it…” He glances at his hands for a moment. “It’s put some things into perspective for me.” He looks back up to Emmrich, meeting his eyes, but there’s something distant in the man’s eye that he hadn’t quite registered before. Emmrich leans forward, placing his hand on Iktom’s.

“From what I’ve heard, the life of a warden is often as short as it is adventurous. Even before the complication of the gods, I would not be surprised if you’d had more than one near brush with death since your Joining. I’ve read and heard many such cases where a Warden finds it completely reframes their outlook on the subject.” There’s a flash of emotion on Iktom’s face, too fast for Emmrich to pick up on most of them. 

“Well… yes, I suppose I have, but no. That’s not exactly it.” Iktom pauses, opening his mouth to speak again, seemingly loses the words again and stops. It’s not until he breaks eye contact that he’s able to say the words stuck in his throat.

“You told me about losing your parents, how it put that fear of death in you. The crushing weight of it that hits you whenever the night feels a bit too dark. I get that, kind of.” He hadn’t described it in as many words, but Emmrich gets the sense that it’s not his feelings that Iktom is describing. 

“And then, you talked about the Watchers, how they saved you, finding others like you or ways to discuss it that makes it– They saved you.” He cuts himself off, as if whatever word he would’ve said there physically hurt to say. “Sure, the dread’s still there, but you’ve got something to hold on to, to focus on, to… I don’t know. But I get that too.” Iktom looks back up, meeting Emmrich’s eyes again. “Kind of.”

“And the Wardens were that for you, I presume?” 

“...Yeah. I…” Iktom took a deep breath, steeling himself. Rehearsed or not, it didn’t seem to make things any easier. It was clear whatever was on his mind was a struggle for him to discuss, and while Emmrich appreciated his dedication to what he felt was honesty, he didn’t want the other man to feel beholden to it, simply because Emmrich discussed his own past. 

“I’m listening, Rook, but please do know that you’re under no obligation to tell me of your own history if you’re not ready. You’re not beholden to that simply because I shared my own. We can get there in good time.” 

“No, it’s alright.” Iktom assured him.

“If you’re absolutely sure.” Emmrich insisted.

“Yeah… yeah.” Iktom let go of his hand, sitting back in his chair somewhat. He seems to soften somewhat, and Emmrich hopes he was able to help even slightly in his reassurance.

“I have–” He nearly winces as he corrects himself. “I had a daughter. Years ago.”

“... Oh.”

“Yeah. Úna was her name. Kal-Sharok for little lamb, I think. My father wanted to give her a proper Ander name, and I half wanted to pick something in Qunlat. But my ex wife– her mother– was the most stubborn out of all of us.” He sighed.

“When she… When I lost her, everything went sideways. Nothing felt right anymore, I became… Well. I’m glad we never met back then.” Iktom laughed half heartedly. “I was even more of an ass then, believe it or not!”

Emmrich’s brow furrowed a bit. He had not even been aware Iktom had been married before, let alone the rest of it. Of course, there was no reason he should have known, but knowing this now… Of course the discussion in the Necropolis gardens stirred something in him. He could think of no greater horror for a parent. 

“You were grieving your child, Rook. I can’t imagine–”

“Sure, but I was still a prick. Oh, you would’ve hated me then.”

Emmrich scoffs, almost offended at the notion. “I find that very hard to believe.”

“Yeah?” There was a hint of smile there as he said it, a twinge of curiosity, and of something Emmrich couldn’t place. 

“Well, still. I fucked up a lot in the process, however you spin it. Wound up getting conscripted ‘cause nobody else would put up with me. Training at Weisshaupt was hard work, it was brutal at times, but… the Wardens saved me. And the nature of it all, there’s this… finality to it. A finish line. None of it made it right, made it any less terrifying. It didn’t make me want to throw up any less when I’d find an abandoned child’s doll in the center of a blight-ridden town. But I could focus again, I could finally learn to make sense of things.” 

Iktom scratched the side of his chin, suddenly aware of his vulnerability and feeling put off by it.

“Anyways, I don’t know if that’s how it was for you, maybe it’s a bit of the opposite since you deal with undead. But I figured it was more of an answer than I gave you before.”

Emmrich wasn’t entirely sure what to say. He had dozens of questions, but none he felt were appropriate to ask currently. He’d have to hold onto them for another time.

“...Thank you, Rook.” He finally said. “For sharing that with me.”

“You shared first. Tit for tat, right?” He said it as if he had only been helping Emmrich with a chore or paying for a meal.

“I…suppose. But I would’ve been satisfied even just with the conversation we had that night. I was satisfied, in fact. But it’s meaningful that you trusted me with this, I know it could not have been easy. I’ve lived decades after becoming an orphan, Rook, but this wound…even if healed, it’s a fresh scar.”

“Yeah well, I…” He trails off a bit, seeming somewhat flustered. “I wanted you to know. You’re good people, Emm.”

“Thank you, Rook. I think much the same of you.” 

“For now.” Iktom gives a sly grin.

“Please.” Emmrich waves him off. “You’re a much better man than you give yourself credit for.”

“Yeah? How do you figure?” Iktom leans forward on the table.

“I have a keen intuition towards this sort of thing, Rook! And I’m sure everyone else in the lighthouse would agree.”

“I don’t know about that .”

“Give it time, Rook. Give it time.”

They keep eye contact for a moment from across the table. Eventually, Rook stands from his chair, picking up the tray with the empty teapot and cups.

“I should get going, soon. Don’t want to keep Antoine and Evka waiting.” He starts towards the opposite side of the room, tray in hand, before turning back towards Emmrich, leaning once again on the doorframe.

“Certainly not. If you need me, Rook…” 

“I know where to find you. And I’ll make another pot of tea, if you like.”

“I’d be delighted.” 

[himbopunk]

wip wednesday but its 2 days late

tagged by both @thedissonantverses and @hyperions-light

this week's been insane for me here's cetus and alistair having a Moment from the dao alt tl fic i was chipping away at

“Hmm, you know. I bet you could still wear the robes.” He’s clearly teasing as he says it, but Cetus could swear he could see him turn the slightest bit pinker, even with as dark as it was in their room.

“I don’t think it’s literally the same, Alistair. I doubt our actual Revered Mothers back home even wear robes like they do down here.”

“What? Then what do they wear…”

“I don’t know!” He laughs. “I think Orlesian or Fereldan Chantry robes would bake you alive in Rivain, though. Maybe it’s just a different material, though?” As he looks back down at the other boy, though, Cetus can tell that he’d moved on from the topic already, lost in thought. Alistair hums a bit to himself.

 “Oh no, he’s thinking.” Cetus teases him.

“Shut up. I was just thinking…” Alistair pauses and sighs a bit, realizing his phrasing a moment too late. Cetus snorts, barely able to hold back his laughter.

“Uh-huh…” He just resists the urge to tease him more, not wanting to discourage him from speaking his thoughts.

“Do you ever… hm.” He considers his phrasing a moment. “Do you ever wish you were a girl? Currently? Not just in hypotheticals.”

“Oh.” Cetus isn’t entirely sure how to answer the question without lying to some extent. “I… don’t know.” A lie. “...Do you?”

“No, not really.” Cetus considers saying something else, but Alistair continues. “...But. There was another boy in the Chantry, training to be a templar alongside me. We bunked for awhile. He…” Alistair says the pronoun like a question, as if unsure how to even refer to this person. He settles on referring to them how he remembers. “He’d say things like that, sometimes. And sometimes, one of the Sisters would let him wear their dresses.”

“Oh… Huh.” Something about the way Alistair talks about the other templar kid ignites something warm and hopeful in Cetus, somewhere far beneath the surface.

“Obviously, that sort of thing wasn’t allowed… More I think because of the fraternizing with the Sisters than anything, really. It distracted us from our duties, or something like that. He’d gotten in trouble once or twice, but he seemed so… happy, I guess it was worth it to him to keep trying anyways.”

Cetus considers the thought. He’d never cared about things like dresses, he struggled to imagine it making him so happy that he’d risk punishment, again and again. But he’d do other things back home, not caring the amount of trouble he’d get in if it got him attention, if it was with the people that made him feel like… himself. So, maybe he could understand it, somewhat.

“So…” Alistair cleared his throat. “If you wanted to sneak some Revered Mother robes, I’d cover for you.” He grins, clearly joking with Cetus, but it hid a sincerity in the sentiment beneath it. Cetus had no doubt, if he was like this kid, that Alistair would do what he could to help, somehow.

“...Did you do that for him? Cover for him?”

“Oh… Yeah, sometimes.” He shrugs. “I don’t think the Wardens care about fraternizing, buuut it’s probably still off limits to steal a Mother’s robes.” A second shot at the same joke, and it gets an actual laugh of Cetus this time.

“I think I would just buy a dress from the shops, if I really wanted to. Thanks, though, good to know you’ll follow me into both battle and dress theft.” Both boys laugh together.

Alistair sighs as their laughter dies down. “You’d probably make a pretty girl.” He jolts, seeming as surprised the words left his mouth as Cetus was to hear them. Not much light was needed for him to know that Alistair was absolutely beet red. The elf could feel the tips of his ears go completely hot, and he hoped Alistair couldn’t see their own blushing as well as Cetus could see his.

“O-Okay. Now you’re just messing with me again.” 

“No!” Alistair responds a bit too quickly. “Well, maybe a bit, but it’s still true. I mean, who wouldn’t like a tall, pretty elf girl with long, blonde hair, right?” Just like before, the last sentence seems to escape him before he can stop it. Alistair drags his hand down his face.

“Sure…” Cetus sounds apprehensive, not sure how seriously he should be taking any of this at this point. 

“Sweet Andraste, just forget I’d said anything.” Alistair mutters under his breath, his face hidden behind his hands. Cetus watches him carefully, humming a bit to himself.

“You know…” Cetus searches for something to say, trying to bring the conversation back away from Alistair’s embarrassment. “I’d probably trip over my own feet in a dress.”

Alistair laughs a bit. “Yeah, probably…” He sighs, removing his hands from his face. “I probably would too.”

Neither one of them says anything for a moment. Some of the tension had lifted, but they weren’t sure how to proceed the conversation from its standstill. Cetus could hear the first bird of the early morning twittering outside. It would still be a while yet before the sunrise, but considering they had to head out at first light, it was far too late for them both to still be awake.

“...We should probably try to sleep soon.” Cetus eventually said. “You and Duncan are heading to Denerim at first light, right?”

[himbopunk]

was thinking about how i interpret some of mavs fear demon stuff and it turned into a drabble so here. fighting off the demons of cringe so that i can write w/o feeling insane

short enough the full text can just go under a readmore ig.

Maverick runs their hand through their hair, trying to find the words to explain. For a moment it’s like being back in the Grand Necropolis, a dozen eyes gazing upon them like a bug caught beneath a glass, waiting expectantly for them to reason their existence to them. As if anyone, abomination or otherwise, understands themselves that intimately.

They glance at Emmrich, and as he often did then as well, he gives them a short nod of encouragement. A small gesture of his hands, barely noticeable except for the shift in how the firelight hits his grave gold, telling them ‘Go on, you know more than you realize.’

And unlike back in the Necropolis, Yuvan is here as well. Watching from where he sits, tucked away on the staircase above the kitchen area. Quiet, distant, but always supportive, always listening. Having two people support them on a subject that’s quite literally resulted in persecution in the past made things a bit easier.

“All right, consider it like this. Spirits like justice, compassion, curiosity… determination.” They glance to Lucanis, sitting beside Bellara at the table. “They’re malleable, subjective in a way. That’s why they can be shifted into what we’ve learned to understand as demons. You take this idea, bring it to its most extreme, or say, pursue them without a balancing counterpart, they turn into something ugly, festering, wild. But spirits aren’t used to the confines of our world, they don’t have the same differentiation in matter as we do. In the Fade, they don’t occupy a physical space, they simply are.”

“I mean, that’s why they possess dead stuff, right?” Bellara chimes in. “They don’t really understand the difference, a body is a body.”

“Precisely, Bellara!” Emmrich responds, and for a moment it really does feel like being back with the Watchers again. Maverick supposes being a teacher just never was something he could turn off. “And a body isn’t any different from an object or other receptacle either, for that matter. It is much more difficult to attach a spirit to something completely inanimate, but if they are guided there, it’s not entirely out of the ordinary.”

“Like some of the artifacts in Arlathan, a lot of those have spirits connected to them.” She adds.

“Or through using blood magic, you could do the same to a demon.” Lucanis chimes in as well. Maverick can’t quite decipher the look on his face, his brow furrowed and eyes distant, but they could feel the fear emanating from the man. Emmrich mentioned his experiences with Venatori, so they’re not entirely sure they want to be privy to whatever it was he was recalling.

“Exactly.” Maverick continues. “It’s much easier to guide a spirit, they can usually be more appealed to or reasoned with. And depending on what it represents, it might change how eager they are to cross the veil, which in turn can make it even easier to guide them. Demons aren’t technically much different, but they’re often confused. The feeling that rules them is so concentrated, compressed, all it wants is a way out, an anchor. So a demon is more likely to reach out to whatever it can find. So many young mages have more experience with demons because a demon is so willing to do what it must to find an anchor, and they don’t have the experience to realize this.”

“Is that what happened to you?” Lucanis asks.

“Well. That’s where things get a bit different. Fear demons don’t entirely operate by some of the rules we’ve applied to other spirits, really. Part of that is because we’re trying to categorize something that operates on a completely different reality than anything we could possibly understand. Most spirits and demons are reflections of what we feel or understand on this side of the veil to varying degrees, but fear is primal, it lives in the base instincts of every living thing. Fear of death, of conflict, of starvation, of sickness, of the judgement of our peers, of the loss of what we love, of the dark… By the Chantry’s definition, fear can only ever be a demon, or at the very least nobody seems to agree on its inverse. In reality, it is both the reflection and its corruption. It never shifts, it doesn’t change into something new, it only grows out of control. Because some fear is necessary, it’s what drives our survival. Without fear, we rush into the mouths of our destroyers, we die out. Anxiety, phobias, nightmares, horrors that haunt our every waking thought, that’s what fear becomes when it festers. But at its root, it never really changed.”

“Well put, Maverick.”

“Thanks, Professor– uh. Emmrich.” Maverick smiles a bit. It still felt weird calling him by his first name, but they’d get over it.

“Yeah, I never really thought about it like that, but you’re right.” Bellara comments. She’d been lightly tapping her knees with her hands, so Maverick had half wondered if she tuned them out, but maybe that’s just how she stays focused.

“And what about your fear demon, then?” Lucanis asks. “Isn’t that more of a concern, that the demon could grow forever into something worse? Aren’t you worried it might overtake you someday?”

“I… well, it’s…” Maverick had answered the question a thousand times, but never liked what came next. It made it worse coming from him, too. He wasn’t just asking for Mav’s experience, he was scared for himself as well. They were supposed to help him, weren’t they? What if the answer wasn’t something he wanted to hear, even if it was their truth?

But before they can gather their words, Emmrich steps in. “Maverick’s relationship with the demon inhabiting them is fairly complicated, as the Watch has learned a long time ago. The answer to that question may be a bit more than we have time for right now, but I’ve known them since they were fairly young. Trust me when I say they won’t do you harm.”

“Well isn’t that the whole point of this? For us to understand each other, to learn how to control the possession?” Lucanis sounded a bit agitated. Yuvan shifted in his seat, clearly ready to add his thoughts, but Maverick spoke before he or Emmrich could interject again on their behalf.

“Look, it’s a long story, but the fear demon and I are kind of one and the same at this point. It’s not just an agreement, or a deal, like most mages would make with the spirit or demon possessing them. It’s more like…a symbiosis? Both parts are necessary for the whole to function. Like needing your heart, or your stomach. So I guess, no, I'm not really worried about it like that, because I've made my peace with it, it's a part of me.”

“Wait, so do you like… eat fear or something?” Taash asks from the back of the room. They’d been quiet the whole time, Maverick honestly forgot they were there.

“Taash!” Emmrich exclaims.

“What? I’m just asking.”

He just sighs in response. Lucanis turns back to address them. “Why are you even here, Taash? You hate Emmrich’s spirit talk.”

“Well they’re not Emmrich, I wanted to see how they’d say it different. Plus, I was hungry.” They take a bite of the sandwich in their hand. “And bored.” They say with their mouth full.

Lucanis rolls his eyes and sighs to himself, sitting back forward in his chair. Mav can’t help but laugh a bit. Distantly, as if muffled by a wall between them, they hear Spite make a comment about how strange Fear looks when they talk. Maverick holds back another laugh, but their eyes meet Lucanis as they do.

“Am I to assume you can hear him as well, like Emmrich?”

“Usually, yeah. I don't mind it, though.”

Lucanis sighs. “Still, I apologize.”

“It’s okay. And by the way, no, I don’t eat fear. I can sense it though, usually. Sometimes just the vague sense of it, sometimes specifics if it's loud enough. I can also impose a sense of dread on others, give them nightmares. Stuff like that.”

“Oh. That’s creepy.” Taash replies. Maverick laughs.

“I get that a lot.”

“Spite just gives Lucanis wings.” They add. “And makes weird bone platforms from the fade, sometimes.”

“Tradeoff for sleepless nights, I suppose. I have my own uh…benefits, sometimes. Anyways… Most spirits have balances that keep them in check. Wisdom needs a sense of benevolence or justice to keep it from becoming pride, or so says the Chantry.”

“You disagree?” Lucanis asks.

“Not necessarily. I think they like to make things simple, which is good enough for religion, but bad for understanding. I think, though, by their definitions, fear can have any balance to keep it in check, really. That's the tradeoff. People use many things to quell their anxieties, to reason with fear when necessary, to quiet it down. Maybe that helped me reach symbiosis with my demon.” Maverick shrugs. “Nobody really knows, honestly, but it’s somewhere to start.”

“So, what, you want me to find the spirit opposite of Spite? I don’t think I need any more spirits in here, thank you.”

“More like, you need to find your own balance with Spite. Lots of ways to get there, but having that in mind is good to start with.”

“Hm. Perhaps. I'll…have to think about it, but I appreciate you trying to help. Thank you, Maverick.”

“You can just call me Mav, and of course. Even if it doesn't help right away, I've been dealing with this since I was like… 12? Right, Emmrich?”

“About that age, I believe, yes. You were very precocious when you arrived to the Necropolis. Though I didn't teach you until a few years later, I do remember once, before you were in my classes, where Hezenkoss had been all but screeching in the halls because you filled her desk with spiders.” 

“Nice.” Taash adds. 

Yuvan snorts, Lucanis and Bellara are both smiling, holding back laughter. Maverick loudly clears their throat in an attempt to move on.

[himbopunk]

How would my oc greet you at different levels of approval?

Part 3/?: Maverick Graves

Low

Cool, great. No, yeah, I'm listening. From way over here.

Back to waste some more time?

Seriously? What do you want now?

Are you lost or did you need something from me?

Neutral

Have you seen a blue spider anywhere-- ah, nevermind!

Oh, hey!

Any requests?

You see Yuvan around here anywhere?

High

I've got a new song for you, when you've got the time. Business first, though.

Oh thank the creators, I was so bored.

Just who I was looking for!

Just who I was hoping to see today, what's the plan?

Okay, tell me what you need, then I need you to help me settle something with Yuvan real quick--

Oh, perfect! Okay I've got an idea for you, and I promise there's less spiders involved this time. But first, what'd you need?

Romance

Meet me again later, by the way, I've got a night out with your name on it.

Well if it isn't my favorite person.

Whatever you need, I can't wait to do it with you.

(Wow.) Oh, sorry, slightly distracted, what'd you need?

(Could I be any luckier?) (Coughs) Sorry. Task at hand, right.

[himbopunk]

To The Tune Of... [ao3]

chapter 1: Heavy News ~5.8k words, t rating cuz they cuss i guess

its 1 am here but it is also friday nite so w/e. mav + yuvan veilguard fic chapter be upon ye (attempt #2).

snippet moment

“Are you planning to explain, or are you just gonna keep ignoring me?” “You’ll see.” Maverick winks, grinning, then stands up with the letter in hand.  They walk across the room, picking up their tanbur-staff from the corner where it rested near their bedroll. Yuvan crosses his arms, watching closely as they sling the instrument over their shoulder by the strap, moving the letter to be held in their mouth briefly so that they could use both hands to play. The engravings in the wood glow a faint green as Maverick draws on the energy of the Fade, the connection much stronger here where the Veil was weakened. As the melody proceeds, the glow grows stronger. Out of the corner of his eye, he notices the owl watching them carefully, tilting its head in cautious curiosity. 

[himbopunk]

more lucky doodles ft another david.

also doing a lil bit of writing w them i just am dumping on ao3 cuz i don't. really have anywhere else for it ig. hoping itll motivate me to keep writing stuff (for ocs mostly but ykno). idk

[himbopunk]

wip wednesday

continuing the yuvan/lucanis grind.

little snippet of the fic where yuvans uhhhh congratulating lucanis on becoming first talon

“Yuvan–” Lucanis gasps his name more than he speaks it. Yuvan sits up quickly, and Lucanis can’t help but mourn the loss of their lips against his skin when he does. 

“Do you want me to stop?” His brow furrowed in concern, worried about going too far, about pushing Lucanis too hard. They’d been taking things slow before this, after all.

“No, no.” He laughed quietly, that was the furthest thing from what he wanted. “Definitely not. I just wonder what’s gotten into you so suddenly?” He raises his hand to caress Yuvan’s face, somewhat surprised when he leans into it.

“Nothing that’s not been there for some time.” He turns his head, kissing Lucanis’ hand, before leaning back down to kiss his lips. Short, this time, no lingering. “Maybe I’m just impatient. Maybe the promotion is just a good excuse.”

“Oh? Don’t tell me you only want me for my title.” Lucanis teases. If it were anybody else, maybe it would be an actual concern, an insecurity tucked somewhere in the back of his mind. But…

Yuvan just laughs. “Your title is my least favorite thing about you, Dellamorte.” There it was. He never did hide his distaste for nobility, for structure, for organizations that held power like the Crows, or the Chantry. Not without cause, either, from the stories he’d told. Sometimes, it kept Lucanis grounded in a way, Yuvan’s experiences were varied and far from his own.

“And how’s that? I’ve only been First Talon for a week, Yuvan.” Lucanis pouts a bit, playing it up, prompting an eyeroll from him.

“What, you want a list?” 

He chuckles. “Sure, give me your list.” Lucanis smirks, leaning back against the wall.

“You’ll be too far away, you’ve got too many strings attached, too many responsibilities to tend to, directions to be pulled in. Too many rules.” Yuvan leans forward as he continues his list of grievances, his hands slowly tracing up the center of Lucanis’ chest. “Doesn’t stop me though.” He tugs on the cravat again, pulling it loose from the collar entirely.

“And lucky for me that it doesn’t, hm?” Lucanis bares his throat to Yuvan, inviting him to continue what he started.

“Lucky for us both.”

[himbopunk]

A Blade to Your Throat [ao3]

one shot, 2.7k words

finally getting around to some of my yuvan/lucanis one shots. lucanis helps yuvan shave, intricate rituals to touch other men and allat

snip:

“What?” Yuvan raises an eyebrow. “Trouble shaving?” Lucanis’ tone was light, almost teasing, but not quite. It was almost frustrating sometimes, how much he noticed, how much he cared. “Not much, until you interrupted me.” “I’ve interrupted you before.” Lucanis steps forward, wiping the blood from Yuvan’s chin with his thumb. His hand lingers for just a few seconds too long. “I can’t blame you for being shaken after what we saw in Arlathan.” Of course, he was checking in on him after all. Yuvan swallows, struggling to keep eye contact. “I’m fine,” he lies. Yuvan’s not sure he’s ever used the phrase in earnest.

[himbopunk]

Lion and the Wolf [ao3]

one shot. managed to make this 2.5k exactly go me

cillian my new trevelyan boy and solas talk in the fade. it may or may not be slightly charged its up to you cuz god knows neither of them will figure it out lmao

snippet timeee:

“I think…” Cillian eventually continues, having regained his composure, “I could probably count on one hand the amount of people that I feel actually care to know me. That can read me, as I’m written.” Solas chuckles. “As you’re written, hm? And here I thought you had just claimed not to be a poet.” Cillian doesn’t turn towards him again, but Solas could see the hint of a smile touch the edge of the man’s lips, tugged ever so slightly in the wrong direction by the scar that ran down to his chin. “You’re one of them, you know.” Cillian turns to meet Solas’s gaze again. “Am I?” The elf smirks slightly.  “Are you surprised? The elven apostate that wanders through my dreams, night after night, having unfettered access to me in a way nobody else can. Is it any wonder you know me in a way that few others do?”

[himbopunk]

How would my oc greet you at different levels of approval?

Part 2/?: Hakim Laidir

Low

Wow, will you look what the sea spit up.

Oh, no, by all means, I wasn't busy or anything.

Whatever it was, it wasn’t me. Or it was, whichever.

Aaaaaaaand they're back. Greeeeeeeat.

Neutral

(Counting quietly) Hey, you got a sovereign to spare? No? Damn. Well, what can I do you for?

Oh, me? Sure, what're we doing?

Ayyy, look who it is!

High

Okay, okay, you got me. What'd you need?

Anything you need, consider it stolen. I mean done.

Hey, I was just gonna come bother you! What's up?

(Ha! Yes! They picked me!) I mean, heyyyyy buddy, what's happening?

Romance

Me? Staring? Nahhhh, just appreciating. Why, did you need something?

Hey gorgeous, need something?

Anything you want, its yours.

I swear, you keep looking at me like that-- no, right, right, later. (Sigh) What'd you need then, love?

[himbopunk]

wip wednesday part 2 (writing hiii)

silver city/superhero setting writing wip under the cut

(heavily ft @cowboyvillainz 's alistaire since this section of the fic is mostly his pov)

The speakers overhead make a ringing alert sound, followed by an automated voice declaring the name of the stop as the train screeches to a halt in front of it. That made one more stop until he could get off. Alistaire sighs impatiently, looking around the train car. An older man who had just entered the car eyes him quizzically, no doubt due to his garish appearance. Alistaire gives him a wave, chuckling as the man quickly looks away, avoiding eye contact.

He doesn't have time to relish the attention, though. No, instead he's suddenly accosted by a chill running through his body, followed by the sensation of electricity in the air, small charges dancing along the surface of his skin. Alistaire peers outside the train window, wondering if some other electrical villain simply chose a really annoying day to debut. But to both his relief and dismay, there's not yet any chaos to be seen outside. He does notice, however, the presence of a massive dark storm cloud that wasn’t present just moments earlier, and it was rolling in fast. Strange, but unpredictable weather is pretty par for the course in Silver City.

The window goes dark as the R.A.I.L. dips into a tunnel beneath one of the big Brightech buildings, meaning he was getting off soon. He hops up from his seat, leaning on a pole until the train comes to a stop. Just as it does, he feels a vibration from his phone in his pocket, as he gets a new message. Quickly, he makes his way through the small crowd of people trying to shuffle out of the train car before anyone can get in, checking his phone as he makes his way through the station.

Alistaire approaches the doors leading out from the station, only to realize it's pouring outside, as the storm seemed to have caught up with him. Or vice versa. He wishes he'd had the foresight to check the weather before leaving. Since he's already late at this point, he waits inside the station, hoping for the downpour to let up.

Alistaire sees a flash of lighting outside, followed by the distant crack of thunder. Based on the time between the two, it seems like he ended up right under the storm. Great.

He looks back down at his phone screen. Charlie was taking way too long to respond, and Alistaire would be lying if he wasn't a bit concerned by his text. He decided to give Hal a call, just to check in. 

The other side rang, and rang, and rang. There was a millisecond of relief when he heard Hal's voice on the other line, only to quickly realize that it was a pre-recorded message for his voicemail. Shit.

It's probably fine. Hal probably just had to do some hero stuff, which sucks for his off day and whatever serious conversation he wanted to have with his mom and his friends, but Alistaire didn't have too much reason to worry about him. Especially not in the middle of this rain, whatever villain chose today to bother him was probably gonna regret it…

Still, Alistaire opens up his messages with Hal to text him.

He switches back over to his texts with Charlie. There was no reply just yet. He waited for a couple minutes, seeing a typing bubble pop up for just a second then disappear. Alistaire looks up again, seeing the rain hasn't let up in the slightest outside. 

Charlie's typing bubble doesn't pop back up, so he takes it upon himself to scroll through Tiktok in the meantime, hoping it would take his mind off the anxiety that had begun to creep its way into his mind. He scrolls past a couple videos, mostly of stupid queer in-jokes and cute cats. It's then that he happens upon a video that appears to only have been posted a few minutes ago, right here in Silver City. 

It wasn't unusual to see bystander footage of various hero and villain goings-on, so he decided to watch it. As he often does, he realizes quickly that he recognizes the part of the city that the video is in. Worse still, it seemed to be the café he was supposed to meet Hal at. Alistaire's stomach sinks as he sees what seems to be a lightning strike, with a force that shatters the glass of the café's windows. But it wasn't just some unfortunate meteorological event caught on video. Alistaire knows lightning strikes, he's even been at their center, so he knew there was something off about this one. 

The camera, shaking slightly due to its holder, turns towards the center of the lightning strike. In the corner of the shot he can see Hal, hunched over his mother and some random other bystander. The camera isn't focused on them, though, not at first. Instead, it focuses on a figure standing a short distance from the cafe, brandishing what seemed some sort of polearm, though the blade on the end was impossible to make out on camera. What Alistaire could tell was that it was pointed directly at Hal, as a booming, thunderous voice called out his name, his full name, then the video cut off. 

Alistaire noticed just then that this user was streaming live, so he selected their icon. It takes barely a second to load in, but he was able to watch the confrontation continue, now in real time.

[himbopunk]

character dialogue scenes: Lucanis and Maverick (OC)

this one could probably go in the yuvanmav longfic at some point but w/e. it'd be several chapters down and idk where it'd fit in.

Mav, a watcher inhabited by a terror demon, sometimes catches nightmares of those around them. They decide to ask Lucanis about one of his

[Maverick peers into the pantry, finding Lucanis sharpening his blades]

Mav: ...Can I ask you a bit of a sensitive question, Lucanis?

Lucanis: [Raises eyebrow] Depends on what it is.

Mav: What was your grandmother like?

Lucanis: Ah. Caterina... she raised Illario and I after we lost our parents. She was... a difficult woman, sometimes. Even as her favorite, it wasn't easy. But she is... was all we had. And we were all she had left. She loved us, but she would never let that stop us from becoming what we needed to be.

Mav: As Crows, right? Heir mentioned that she trained you herself.

Lucanis: She did.

Mav: I've heard Crow training can be... intense.

Lucanis: It is, but it was necessary. We can't afford to falter when it comes to our contracts.

Mav: Especially not if you're the First Talon. Or the kid of the First Talon...

Lucanis: Precisely.

Mav: ...Do you resent her?

Lucanis: What? Maverick, what are you getting at, why are you asking this?

Mav: Sorry, I uh. Last night, you had a nightmare. Normally I'm better at tuning it out, because it's not my business, I know that. I wasn't trying to snoop. But... we are in the Fade.

Lucanis: Your fear demon.

Mav: It's just all so loud here so often, and you sleep so little... it was hard to ignore.

Lucanis: I... suppose that makes some sense. I hadn't even considered that.

Mav: Not all demon possessions are created equal, I guess. Some of us get purple wings, and some of us... [Trails off.]

Mav: [Sighs] She was there, in the nightmare, and I just thought... I dunno. You're grieving... It's a messy process, conflicting feelings. So I'm told.

Lucanis: ...Hm. I'll ask you something in return, then.

Mav: Shoot.

Lucanis: You've never mentioned your own family before, Maverick. How did they take it when you were possessed by your demon?

Mav: I... I don't remember my family much anymore, actually. When I died, everything from before faded a bit. Sometimes all I can recall is like... watching my old life through a foggy window pane, or trying to recall a song I'd lost the tune to. It's... not right.

Mav: Maybe it's the possession, maybe that's just what happens, I'd never really had anyone to compare notes with before.

Lucanis: I don't have anything like that with Spite, but the circumstances were different. And you were much younger, no?

Mav: 11 or 12, I think

Lucanis: Maker, really?

Mav: Yeah. The good die young, I guess, or become whatever we are.

Lucanis: [Half-hearted chuckle] Hah, I suppose.

Mav: I do kind of... I remember they'd brought my dad's Mortalitasi friend to the alienage for my rites. I was terrified. And I remember... my sister. She wouldn't look me in the eyes when I came back.

Lucanis: I... am much too familiar with the feeling. I didn't know you had a sister.

Mav: Yeah, Dhia. Few years older than me... I haven't seen her since then, pretty much. I got shipped down to the Necropolis to be... studied, I guess. Watched.

Lucanis: ...

Mav: Guess I turned out alright, though!

Lucanis: All things considered, I think I'd agree.

Mav: It's... hard. Having your family look at you like you're this monster, puppeting around their dead child. But I couldn't tell them they were wrong, either, not really.

Lucanis: Mm.

Mav: Is that what you were dreaming about? With Caterina?

Lucanis: ...In a sense.

Lucanis: For months down there, all that mattered was finding a way out. And then Rook and Neve found me. Once I finally came up for air, the entire trip back to Treviso, the only thing on my mind was how she would react, the look on her face when it wasn't her grandson that returned to her, but an abomination.

Mav: You are still her grandson, though, Lucanis. You know that.

Lucanis: I suppose. But you know what I mean.

Mav: ...I do. Like, maybe even after all of it, she'd decide she didn't want you back. After everything you'd been through, you couldn't come home. That maybe she'd cast you aside.

Lucanis: Mm, exactly. And... [Laughs, quietly] Maybe the worst part is that as much as the thought terrified me... there was almost this hint of... relief?

Mav: No... I think I get it. Like, it's a blow, but you're anticipating it?

Lucanis: In a sense, but... More than that, in some way it felt... freeing?

Mav: Freeing? Like, from her?

Lucanis: I suppose. [Groans] It's stupid.

Mav: No, it's not!

Lucanis: Maverick...

Mav: Really. When we talked about my gender stuff before, you said your life wasn't your own, didn't you? It makes sense. Being disowned is awful, yeah, but it's freeing in its own way. The monster doesn't bear man's burden of expectation, right?

Lucanis: Hmm, I... suppose, when you put it that way...

Lucanis: Not that any of it matters anymore. I'll never know, now, and I can't decide if that's worse. [Sighs]

Mav: For what it's worth, I'm sorry.

Lucanis: ...Thank you.

[A long moment of silence.]

Lucanis: Maverick..?

Mav: Hm?

Lucanis: I-- no. Nevermind.

Mav: Oh. Okay.

Mav: ...You know, Lucanis. About my family...

Lucanis: Yes?

Mav: As miserable as it is, what happened, having them see me that way now and such... I.. When I think of family, I don't see their faces anymore. Their kid died, one way or another.

Maverick: Instead I see Yuvan, and Emmrich. Oh, and Sal, but you still haven't met him yet.

Lucanis: Hm...

Mav: It's... I don't know. I know Caterina and Illario had been what you had left for so long and I don't want to discount that or anything. Just... sometimes family goes beyond that, right? Beyond blood. It's the people you choose, not just the people you're born with. People like Neve, or Rook.

Lucanis: Maybe. I suppose only time will tell.

Mav: Yeah... just something to think about is all.

Lucanis: Yes, definitely.

Mav: Oh, and I'm still adjusting to the Lighthouse, but I'll try not to bother you about your nightmares again, if you want. Or anyone else's, for that matter. But, hey, if you need to talk about any of them, you know where to find me.

Lucanis: Thank you, Maverick. I'll... keep that in mind.

[himbopunk]

hi hello i have written a bit of bg3 stuff with my new goliath guy + wyll

im trying to make my writing less just exposition about my ocs or w/e and i think this one is kind of as much about wyll as zauvith but man i got no clue. read at ao3 link above or under the cut below its like 2k or smth

As the party takes a moment to rest on the side of the road, Wyll watches as their makeshift leader meditates and prays beside the riverbank. They’d not travelled for more than a couple days at this point, but it had become a frequent sight, as the larger man was very dedicated to his oath as a paladin. He’d met other followers of Talos in the past, so he’d recognized parts of the ritual, even as he couldn’t understand the prayers recited in Giants’ tongue. As the prayers came to a close, Wyll approached Zauvith, deciding to sit upon a large rock looking over the river beside the man. It was a bit of a funny sight, as even with the significant boost in height, Wyll felt barely taller than the half-giant man kneeling in the damp soil.

“You’ve caught me at the end of my prayers, Blade. How goes it?”

Wyll chuckles. “You can call me Wyll, you know. I don’t mind. I’d prefer it, even.”

“Oh? Have I earned your friendship so quickly, then?” The paladin smirks. “Or is this an exception to the rule?”

“I’m already more than happy to call you my friend, Zauvith. You know this by now, I’m sure.” Wyll leans back on the rock, watching the other man’s scarred and callused hands as he places the holy symbol around his neck beneath his tunic and mail.

“And I, yours, Wyll.” Zauvith smiles as he turns towards Wyll more fully. His blank white eyes were sometimes hard to read, but he could see a softness at the corners, care and concern clear in the slight furrow of his brow. “How fares your wounds? That redcap seemed to take a good chunk out of you. In need of any healing?”

Wyll waves him off. “Don’t worry about me, a moment of respite and I’m back on my feet.”

“Glad to hear it. Though I suppose I should expect as much from an adventurer as seasoned as yourself.” Wyll laughs at that. He knows the other man is being genuine, but it almost felt like a joke, comparing the man he was now to the Blade he’d been before the tadpoles that took residence in all of their skulls. Zauvith turns his head to the side a bit, visibly confused by the other’s reaction.

“I’ve lost a bit of my touch, I’ll admit, but I’ve always been one to bounce back fairly quick.”

Sometimes he wonders what sort of relationships he’d have with the others if he had encountered them before their current condition. Would they get along? Would they even give one another the time of day?

“It wasn’t intended as an insult.”

“No, no, I know. It’s just hard to think of myself as the same man I was, sometimes…” Wyll trails off, the rest of the sentiment had been repeated many times by now, and not just by him. There was no point in doing so again.

“I understand that. Our… little friends have changed many things in all of our lives, it seems. For better or for worse.”

“I have to admit, I’ve been struggling to find the better as of late.” Wyll sighs, absentmindedly scratching the base of his new horns.

“Fair, I suppose it’s been a bit different for everyone. But if I am to go through this illithid hell,” He winked, fully aware of the double meaning of the phrase in their case. “Then I’d be happy to do so with the Blade by my side.”

Wyll rolled his eye a bit, but his smile remained. “I won’t argue with that. New companionship has been the most prevalent boon of our present circumstances.” He hums a bit to himself. “You know, speaking of which, I think you’re the only member of our merry band of almost-mind flayers that hasn’t ever commented on my name.”

Zauvith frowns, turning his head to the side again, utterly confused. 

“I… wasn’t aware Wyll was so strange a name..?”

“No, no!” Wyll laughs, realizing his mistake. “My title, I mean. The Blade of Frontiers.”

“Ah? I suppose I never thought much of this name, either. Should I?”

“I suppose not. I’ve noticed some of our companions seem to find it, and I, to be rather…theatrical? I suppose I’d figured, pragmatic man that you are, that you of all people in our party may find it a bit…much?”

“Hm…” The man is quiet for a moment as he considers the idea. It doesn’t take very long at all for him to reach his conclusion, though. “Can’t say I agree.”

“No?”

“Well, from what I’d heard of you, how you and others speak of you, you earned the title, no?”

“Well,” He crosses his arms. “I’d surely like to think so. Though I never did get to tell you the full story of how I earned it.”

“Then I don’t see what’s dramatic, or ‘much’” He makes air quotes with his fingers with the last word. “If you’ve earned the title, then what’s the issue?”

“When you put it that way, I suppose it’s hard to argue!” Wyll laughs. “I’ve gotten all manner of comments in the past years, I have to admit, I wish more people saw it so simply.”

The larger man’s brow furrows a bit, seemingly stuck on something Wyll said.

“I– Hm.” He cuts himself off, seeming to carefully look for the words he wants to say. Wyll detected a hint of frustration as he watched the larger man rub his temples. If he’d not spent so much time with Zauvith the last few days, he’d worry that he offended somehow, but it seemed that sometimes the other man simply struggled with the words for certain concepts in common. Not for lack of knowing them, but his familiarity with the language was still… fairly recent. He’d learned to try not to take these moments personally, giving the other man space to find his words again.

“Wyll, what do you know of goliaths and our giant-kin?” Wyll begins to open his mouth to speak, but Zauvith quickly course-corrects. “Beyond how to fight them.” Of course, he had his number on that. 

Wyll had travelled across the Sword Coast, but hadn’t run into many giants or their smaller goliath brethren, beyond maybe the occasional hill giant territorial dispute. He’d often thought himself lucky in this, but he wonders in this moment what he might have missed out on of his new friend’s culture and people. Whether he’d taken them for granted, as many have to tieflings like those at the Grove, or any number of peoples on the coast that he’d encountered in the past.

“...Not much, I’ll admit.” There was a bit of embarrassment there. Zauvith huffs a bit, but makes a hand-waving motion, as if to dismiss the warlock’s shame.

“I expect as much, most smallfolk don’t. Outside of the Dale…” He trails off, sighing.

“Goliaths, we take three names, at least.” He continues, switching the subject before Wyll could ask anything further. “One from your mother, one from your clan, and one from your people.” Zauvith picks up three sticks from the ground, holding one for each name. “Or, the last could be one from yourself, depending on your philosophy.” He shrugs. Wyll nods along, inviting him to continue the explanation.

“Your mother-name is the one you’re given as you’re born, when she first lays eyes upon your face, and you cry out to the new world.” He places the first stick in the soft dirt. “It’s a tether your mother leaves behind when her cord is cut, the piece of her that remains with you forever.”

“Your clan-name is fairly self-explanatory. You take it from your clan, usually when you come of age, receive your marks.” He gestures to the tattoos on his face with the stick, before placing it in the soil next to the first one. “It tethers you to where you came from, those who raised you, who fight with you, who love you. It reminds us that we’ll always be part of where we’re from. We represent them, and they’ll always be with us.”

“Not unlike the name of a noble house, I suppose.” Wyll adds.

“I suppose not, but not all in a clan are related by blood. And you know who else is in your clan, so clan-names are usually only brought up with those outside of it.”

“And the third?”

“Your self-name, or people-name, depending, is the name you earn. We do choose it in a way, through the actions we make, but it comes from those who see those actions and then name you through them.”

“Ah, hence the philosophical debate? Whether it’s one you choose by your actions, or by how others see them?”

Zauvith sighs. “Yes. I’m no priest or scholar or storykeeper, but I’ve had my ear talked off by my share of them back home. And I suppose, as well, there are some cases where it could be truly self-assigned. It depends on what it is, how you found it. I’ve not heard of many such cases, but I guess it could happen.” He shrugs, before placing the final stick in the dirt. All three stood straight up, sturdily nestled into the soil below. 

“Regardless, it tethers you to your actions, and to the community that sees them. The consequences, good or bad, become a part of us, as our experiences shape us. What you put out into the world is a part of you.”

“Huh.” Wyll processes the idea for a moment. They’re not unlike those found in many human cultures, or others like orcs and some elves, but he’s not sure that he’d ever heard it explained in such a way before now. There was almost a sort of poetry to it, with the way that Zauvith presented it.

“You can take more than one self-name, many significant moments become a part of our larger legacy. Some clans have more names as well, I know of some specifically having names you take in childhood until you’re old enough to shed it. My clan didn’t have that practice, but it does leave us with many possible names as we move through our lives. By the time we’re elders, should we be blessed enough to make it there, our names are a story of who we are, where we’ve been, and where we come from.” 

“That’s… kind of beautiful, I think.” The warlock muses.

“It simply is as things are, to me.” Zauvith responds, matter-of-factly. No wonder he and Lae’zel got along.

“That doesn’t take away from its beauty.” Wyll points out. “There are many things we take for granted that have beauty hidden within them, for those who care to look.”

“I suppose.” The paladin shrugs, but there’s a hint of a smile at his lips. It’s softer than the other times Wyll’s words found him smiling, and there’s something to it that’s reluctant, unsure. But Zauvith clears his throat, quickly banishing the flustered smile from his face.

“I simply figured ‘the Blade of Frontiers’ to be some version of a self-name. It’s formatted differently from ours, but so is the language, so that made sense to me. You made yourself, Wyll, and the people around you saw that in you, and so they called out what they saw: a hero. Simple as that.” 

It was Wyll’s turn to find himself with something of a flustered smile on his face. It wasn’t his first time being referred to as a hero, and he did believe he’d earned his title, but to have it put so succinctly, even after the paladin had witnessed him in his current state, his mistake with Karlach, seen the reality of his pact and the punishment upon his form for the moment he resisted it… It was enough to waver anyone’s faith in his position as a hero. Anyone, but not Zauvith’s, it seemed. The weight with which he called Wyll a hero, to state it so simply as part of who he was? Who wouldn’t feel a bit of flush in their cheeks at that moment?

“I think… I would agree with that sentiment, of it being like your self-names.” Wyll laughs. “Maybe I should have been born a Goliath, it would have saved me a lot of explaining earlier in my adventuring days.”

“If you had been, I have no doubt that your name would have been Runt instead.” The paladin smirks.

“Hey now, watch it!” Wyll protests, feigning offense, but he only finds himself laughing harder. Zauvith begins laughing as well, and for a moment they laugh together, sitting beside the river’s bank.

“Anyways,” Zauvith finally says, after their collective mirth had begun to die down, “I wouldn’t pay the others much mind on the matter. At least half of them haven’t much ground to stand on when it comes to theatrics. Gale and Astarion least of all.” He smiles at Wyll, before slowly standing up to his full height, towering over the human man, even with his newfound devilish additions.

“But I think we’ve spent enough time idly talking about names for now, Blade.” He reaches a hand down to help Wyll to his feet, which the man accepts as he stands up in front of him. Standing on top of the large rock, he nearly matches the goliath man’s gaze for once. Wyll’s hand lingers in his for a moment. “Perhaps by the fire tonight, you can tell me the full story of how you earned it?”

Wyll smirks. “It is a tale suited for firelight, for sure. Maybe if we can find some half-decent ale to share… And then perhaps you can tell me how you earned the name Thunderheart, as well.” 

Zauvith chuckles. “We’ll see where the night takes us.” He takes the hand that had held Wyll’s, placing it on the pommel of the blade hanging from his hip. “Until then, the world’s monsters won’t slay themselves, will they, Blade?”

“That they won’t, my paladin friend.”