gwimulchorom - Tumblr blog

[gwimulchorom]

wow that's a nice inflexible honour code you've got there. i can't wait to see it broken under immense pressure, and you along with it.

[gwimulchorom]

[gwimulchorom]

Myron thinks about Josie the night after she goes to bed.

She remembers the way Bryn cared for her, and the gentleness in which the dwarf would brush her hair, bring her her overalls and then immediately switch to work mode with the marching orders to get started on busy work days.

She also remembers the way Bryn had found her, catatonic from grief and pain, and how she cradled her muttering words of quiet apology and a promise to never leave her behind ever again.

Myron remembers her own mother, trapped in the Thaymount. She also remembers Bryn, who acted like a mother when she needed someone to be in her corner most. Perhaps in the cycle of life and death, this is why she understood Josie so intimately - she too is a mother to fifty children big and small, children she had had to dig and fight her way into protecting.

It doesn't take long for her to quietly slip away from the other agents in Newfaire and jump, once again, through spaces. Every experience she lives through in the spaces she remembers, a secret she holds tight to herself, but she knows when her surroundings warp once more to the familiar, modern bedroom, that some experiences would stay with her more than she liked.

Her last foray in New Orleans had been traumatic - but something she accepted with silent grace, all things considered. Most people would falter under the torture of dying and reviving over and over, and unfortunately Myron fell outside that category (she had endured so much worse at the hands of the Red Wizards' gruelling training regime, then the Spellguards).

She remembers again, a question posed to Jangil when he had finally escaped with her intact - would Myron go insane from the torture, or would she have a glimpse of recovery?

Every mother experienced the pain of childbirth, physically or psychologically. It was a choice they accepted when they brought a child into their lives. She would gladly give herself up for Jangil and Dankyung, over and over, and it would only be the tip of her tolerance compared to every sacrifice she had made stepping into motherhood.

She understood Josie, even as she understood that her time in Newfaire was coming to a close. She would return elsewhere, searching, wanting, serving her hoard the best way she could.

Myron consolidates her experiences again, and she closes the chapter of the next leg of her journey.

[gwimulchorom]

God I'm a sucker for characters who are so utterly loyal to someone that they're completely unhinged. Characters who have no moral compass except their overwhelming devotion to whoever they've chosen to listen to. That's the good shit

[gwimulchorom]

descent

“Greenest was about as dreary and hopeless as I thought it would’ve been. Miserable group of people - a mason named Milo, a bizarre half-cat something named Tate, a dimwitted noble named Haruuc and a showoff of a skirmisher named Whisper I’ve ended up with. 

It doesn’t take too long for Haruuc to die, and Milo revives him with the power of Bahamut. Pretty much the only thing of value worth mentioning in this foray until you get to the part of Whisper planting a fucked-up apricot tree that’d been mass exterminated by liches for a reason. 

Needless to say Muirin shows up in the name of the Alliance to help take care of the city and tree and I have never wanted to jump into a fucking hole more. It gets worse, I promise you. It’s a shame the best we’d salvaged then was just a part of that blue dragon’s tail when it finally withdrew from Greenest. 

News spreads and we get sent to Elturel. While it was nice taking a bit of time out to romance Sindrie, that amazing merchant elf I’d fallen in with, it doesn’t take long for us to all get dispatched on individual quests to help solve the impending cult crisis. Considering we had the most information at hand, we end up going for the most dangerous quest in the Mere to figure out the castle in there and what would become of it. 

In this situation, Whisper isn’t allowed to leave Greenest anymore because she’s bound to the fucked-up apricot tree. It’s a bit too much to unpack, so let’s throw that suitcase away because in comes Sophie, the worst person in this narrative to even exist. 

Milo, in his everliving grace, decides it’s worth our time to start being truthful to each other about ourselves. He’s transparent in that he’s being hunted for his masonry - a rare type known as “rune-carving”, and he needed to know that we could be trusted before he could set his heart to ease travelling with us. 

Tate admits she was sent to kill Muirin, and that was the end of that conversation. Like fuck I was going to put the dagger in that hand to tell them about what I was about before. 

I’d gloss past the rest because it’s nothing to be proud of. Haruuc…well, no, Brother now, actually, killed for me, and that sealed the deal in our siblinghood. Someone killing for my wretched self is quite the game changer, I won’t lie. Truly a love language for the ages, and thus he was the first to find out who my truest self is. I placed my faith in him for a reason - and I was right. 

This is where I start talking about dragoncraft because I was incapacitated or imprisoned during most of this particular section, so it’s easier for me to fill in the gaps on what I actually did end up making with dragon parts. Evil dragon parts are a bitch to work with, so be glad that I’m still sitting here dictating this with a quill and hadn’t blown myself up with that.”

3 - cycle 

“For a job well-done, the factions estimate giving us some years of downtime to prepare for a final push to deal with Tiamat once and for all. We sit down to discuss these - and Sophie, because she’s absolute bullshit, decides she suddenly wants me to sell my soul to her to give me ‘information I can’t share with Muirin’. 

Clearly this is some fucking audacity considering I was just coming out of a 3-day coma, and it wasn’t like it was actually anything particularly damning considering Brother shared what he knew with me. They’d activated the Maze Engine after I’d allegedly sent him off to help me with that task, which transported them backwards in time to optimise the time they were spending on matters. 

The whole thing was breaking my brain, really. Brother was smart now, and Sophie was apparently some sort of insanely-overtuned archfey who had been irritating me (allegedly) by showing up only to ask for favours, and Milo had bonded with the evil greatsword that I’d instructed not to get emotionally attached to. You can tell that all my carefully laid out plans were going absolutely swimmingly. 

Let’s put that in a can though and talk about Brother, though, because this is my story and I get to decide who the main characters of the narrative are. Brother’s holy pilgrimage to get his Holy Avenger sword was talk for the ages, and he’d invited me to travel with him amidst his sea of priests - he’d invited everyone who had some degree of competence and walked a holy path. I’m about as allergic to religion as werewolves to raw silver, but who was I to refuse such an earnest request? Not to mention the other option being to worry for his well-being before he returned, which I figured would be far more tortuous than anything. 

In the end, I was the one to deliver Sufferance to Brother, on the brink of unconsciousness. Maybe it was just catharsis that I would place the one life-changing item into my adoptive brother’s hand, the same way he’d placed everything he had in me when I was at my lowest and hadn’t deserved him. 

The rest of this downtime could be explained as a bit of a whirlwind, actually. Brother was made a Masked Lord of Waterdeep, and had chosen me as his advisor, stating he’d wanted to build an orphanage and order of crusaders to protect the weak and underprivileged. We’d apparently named the order The Order of the Gemscaled Knights, and I’d picked topaz on both occasions for my title and namesake at that point. 

Me! Little old me who didn’t even know half of what I’d done to have this man so entirely devoted to me! If we weren’t already so close as siblings, I might have to fall in love with this man to keep him by my side! Turns out being nice to a person goes such a long way, maybe I should reconsider my stance on being terrible to most other adults. 

"I couldn't do this all without you and you are one of the few people I trust, Gut. You never steered me wrong and I know together we can accomplish great things. Besides you always talk about how your sister and you are being punished for the suffering you'd both brought upon others, just imagine how much good you have done and can continue doing in such a post. We can return Waterdeep to the City of Splendors, a beacon of hope and promise for all the Lord’s Alliance." 

Tell me you wouldn’t wed this 6 foot 7 brick wall and throw him into bed immediately. Look me deep in my green eyes and tell me with a straight face that you wouldn’t. You can’t, because he’s the most eligible man in Waterdeep and nothing will convince me otherwise of this fact. 

At least this did mean that everything we had available was settled, though. We had retirement plans all mapped out, money set aside for our orphans, and enough magical arms to start a small army of our own. If we weren’t acting for the interest of Waterdeep we would’ve probably been arrested by now, but I digress."

4- current

"This is unfortunately the part where it gets a little more boring - see, Sophie goes and gets herself killed for good on the eve of the war on Tiamat (good riddance!), and Tate ascends to godhood through a wish to turn herself into a ferrous dragon god. One of these incidents is significantly more responsible than the other. 

We decide that we’re just going to three-man it. Pretty much whatever you think happens happens, so I’m retired now, feet up in Brother’s keep on the South Gate of Waterdeep doing my life’s work of taking the occasional legendary item commission (please don’t waste my time and ask to commission a Holy Avenger) and taking care of children rescued from slavers and bandits. 

In this, though, I balanced my own needs and decided to invoke the power of True Polymorph to transform permanently into a topaz dragon. Everything worked out according to plan anyway, and the last loose end was my inability to surmount antimagic - with a form I’d revert to that would be unbound by something as paltry as weak-willed mages, not many see a plot twist like this coming. Or I do and I die anyway, a loss I’m willing to take if I’m being outsmarted to that extent. You can’t plan for everything after all. 

At this point you’re wondering why I hadn’t mentioned Muirin throughout when she’s my twin sister: but Muirin has her own story to tell, I just bum in her place from time to time ensuring she stays fed and hydrated. Trauma forces distance, and to protect myself (as much as I love her) (as much as it hurts me) I have to make the difficult choice for us both. It was better for the both of us that way. 

It’s kind of funny how we both ended up being the only people to walk away because we’d laid down the foundations of a plan. Brother had told me about it being a legacy, a legacy that keeps giving: 

 "We are still the protagonists of our own story but this Tyranny of Dragons we may not play the role of hero or heroine, but we are playing that role in a far grander story that while may not be told as wide as this other story we are part of. We must remember we have done more and better than most of our peers. Just look at them and what they have accomplished. Tate ascended to Godhood via magical wish, Sophie is grounded for likely several generations of our lifetimes, Brother Milo is trapped in his position and duties but sadly has no long reaching or lasting impact as of now.” 

“Unlike them, we have built something that will live on and be grander than anything we may accomplish in our lifetimes. We have helped give less fortunate children a fair chance at life, founded a new knightly order that focuses on everything and not just the military aspect. We have established an orphanage that has schools built into its structure and established a fund to help our children, grandchildren, great grandchildren achieve their dreams. If I died today or even tomorrow knowing the Order of the Gemscaled Knights will live on and continue moulding the future makes me extremely proud and even more so knowing we will be remembered as the founders of such a great order. What better heroic path could anyone ever dream of following?"

He always seems to hit the nail on the head every time - and I find myself thinking, even as I’m dictating this from my desk in the Eye of the Storm, that I probably wouldn’t have wanted anything less. 

Once, I’d wanted to walk into the waters and disappear. Now? Maybe that can be put off for a couple hundred years while I figure child-rearing and hoards out.” 

[gwimulchorom]

Myron Timeline

1461 DR, Era of Upheaval - Myron and Muirin Mathuana, identical twin sisters, are born to Helene and Oscillock Mathuana in the Thaymount.

1471 DR, Era of Upheaval - Both Myron and Muirin are taken by the Red Wizards of Thay to begin training. After aptitude tests, Myron is assigned to the school of Illusion and Muirin into the school of Abjuration.

1476 DR, Era of Upheaval - Myron and Muirin receive their first arcane tattoos to signify their graduation into official Red Wizards.

1481 DR, Era of Upheaval - After too much malicious compilance, the twins are each assigned a Thayan Knight and sent to Phlan for their first subterfuge mission to keep an eye on the Cult of the Dragon. They separate after losing their cover identities in the party they were expected to travel to Avernus with, promising to meet in Waterdeep.

1482 DR, Era of Upheaval - Myron experiences a soul-sundering incident at the Mythal of Silverymoon, killing three others around her when her illusory disguise backfires on herself and melds her into the body of a teenaged half-elf. She is processed into Spellguard Isle where she is personally tortured and interrogated in an antimagic field by Taern Hornblade himself, leaving her with a crippling fear of the Spellguards’ leader.

1482 DR, Era of Upheaval - Myron is processed into Miresk’s School of Thaumatargy as a student on parole. She begins studying artifice under the tutelage of Bryn Bouldergrace, the secretive owner of The Wyrmworks, specialising in dragoncraft.

1485 DR, Era of Upheaval - Myron graduates from Miresk’s School of Thaumatargy and becomes a professor in magical artifice, succeeding her alchemist predecessor Mag Tinkerfingers. She begins making a name for herself defending Silverymoon after orcs attempt to besiege the city and is referred to “Professor Ursus”.

1489 DR, Era of Upheaval - Myron and many professors falls to Alaskarbarbatos the ancient blue dracolich after it awakens under Silverymoon’s waters and destroys parts of Miresk in his carefully calculated rampage, earning her title of “Dracolich Slayer” when she takes him down with her. After receiving a faulty resurrection that leave her disabled, she leaves to Greenest to start solving the draconic problems her way or the high way.

1489 DR, Present Age - After turning in her findings with another group of adventurers, Myron prepares for war. Repurposing the corpses of dragons into living runic wards earn her the title of The Witch of the North. She moves to Waterdeep with her adoptive brother, Haruuc “The Punisher” Roaringhorn, settling in her tower named The Eye of the Storm.

1490 DR, Present Age - The Order of the Gemscaled Knights is formed in both Haruuc and Myron’s name. She accepts the title of “The Topazscaled Mage”, a title designed to be passed down, before True Polymorphing herself into an adult topaz dragon to ensure she will never be disabled in an antimagic field again.

1490 DR, Present Age - Haruuc accepts his title as Masked Lord of Waterdeep. Myron is appointed his advisor, much to her distress.

1492 DR, Present Age (present) - Myron erases most aspects of her true name and existence and lives in relative obscurity in Waterdeep, having retired largely to become a philanthropist assisting children and mercenary artificer dealing with evil dragons and their parts. Alongside her previous titles, she also jokingly and gladly accepts “The Senseless”, a title derogatorily given to her by Lady Laeral Silverhand, the current Open Lord of Waterdeep.

[gwimulchorom]

“你的盼望, 是我握在手中小小的太阳”

Your hopes on me is the little sun I cup in my hands.

--------

They snuggled together in bed, a gesture they seemed to reflect even after years apart. A moment passed before Muirin poised to get up first and Myron reached over, possessively grabbing her sister in a tangle of limbs to ensure she couldn’t escape her deathgrip.

“I have work--” Muirin pushed Myron’s face from her, reaching for a pillow to smack her with, “I can just teleport away, and you know that.” Even then, Myron scoffed, feeling Muirin relax against her despite her protests. 

“I’ll counter it if you try. Cheap spell of the 2nd circle that it is,” Myron grumbled, reeling Muirin back in, “The Twins can wait a moment before opening. We both have Simulacrums going - and a lot of time. Let’s sleep in for a bit more, and then get ourselves a sprawling breakfast.”

Muirin peeked up at Myron, before sliding out from under her. “Are you making it?” she teased, sitting up and reaching over to push Myron back up to a seated position, “Seems like the Roaringhorn’s been doing you some good. Your meals are starting to improve too. Did cooking for 50 people force you to get better ingredients and actually bother to take care of yourself?”

Myron flopped to a seat, ruffling her fluffy head of hair before squinting into space. “Brother very much does the opposite. In fact he tries to cook for me as much as possible...but yes, I’ve been taking better care of myself these days. Can’t fall apart if I’m in charge of so many children now, right? Don’t want them to worry about me as much as possible.”

“If he was abusing your goodwill you know I’d flay him. I’ve always wanted to see what’s inside a celestial being,” Muirin shook her head, fluffing her pillows and neatly setting them aside, “In the end, all it took was letting you adopt a gaggle of kids to have you sort yourself out. You felt so guilty taking favors from me all the time. Why? Making a small personal army in Waterdeep’s name?”

“They can decide what they want to do with their lives. You know better considering we were taken and trained, no say in that matter,” Myron rubbed her eyes before reaching blindly for her seal plushie behind her, slipping the toy inside one of her pouches, “They can be my personal army for all I care, but I doubt the Witch of the North really needs more rumors about her.”

“I like that. Has a mysterious type of zing to it,” Muirin wiggled her fingers, striding over to pull her twin to her feet, “Do they even put two and two together? Those people don’t even know who they’re talking to half the time.”

“No, and I’d like it to be kept that way,” Myron stumbled against her sister’s weight, allowing Muirin to guide her, “Where else am I going to get speculative portraits of myself as a sinister old crone punishing the corrupt and ruining cults? I need to get my entertainment somewhere.”

“Could offer you some jobs,” Muirin let herself bear Myron’s weight as they walked to the kitchen together, “Want to help me kill vampires at Greenest? Thay killed that piece-of-shit tree that was giving us so much trouble, but you know how they’re like about ensuring we’re both out of that picture. If not, I’m sure there’s some logistical paperwork for Greenest and Waterdeep I’ve been putting off. And also building more items for The Twins...”

“Already working on things for sale. Don’t have to tell me twice,” Myron rested her legs on the table, leaning backwards with acrobatic balance, “I don’t mind going to punt some undead. Need to put my arcane armor to the test anyway. I wonder how well the barding sigils would stretch on a dragon’s body...”

“Don’t,” Muirin gave Myron a warning glare, making a gesture to allow coffee to fill both their mugs on its own, “For someone so determined to keep all her identities separate, you keep trying to fly in as a dragon like you aren’t scaring the townsfolk less than two years after a major dragon attack.”

“I’m a nice dragon!” Myron protested as she accepted the coffee, pouting dramatically, “Maybe they need to read up more on the Draconomicon about topaz dragons instead of scattering in fright. I’m cute and lovely.”

“Getting people to read and improve on themselves? Tall order,” Muirin sighed as she evaluated the items in her stash, “What are you feeling this morning?”

Myron jumped to her feet, already limping over to toss around some ingredients Muirin had set out. “Bugs? We could call back to our roots and eat bugs. Personally I’m feeling toast and eggs,” she rambled, already setting aside her ingredients of choice, “How about some sausages? We hardly get sausages coming in these days. I’m so hungry. Maybe I should get Brother to request for more prime cuts from the surrounding regions.”

“We can discuss business later,” Muirin set out the plates, settling in with mug in hand as she leafed through her copy of the Waterdhavian Times, “If you’re hungry, how do you think I feel?”

“Boo. You wouldn’t even help me cut the crust off the toast and butter it,” Myron protested, already skilfully making scrambled eggs on the makeshift grill - a spark of green flame was all it needed to sputter to life, “Is the papers really that much more important than spending time with your beloved sister?”

Muirin sighed, gesturing to the loaf in front of her to start slicing itself. “You pull that all the time. We lived together for months after I found you again, I think I’ve had quite my fill of you,” she muttered, pulling the papers closer to her face.

“Blasphemy. Nobody gets tired of me,” Myron teased, mixing the butter into the eggs with a satisfying sizzle. “I want my toast triangular.”

[gwimulchorom]

Transgenderisms with this professor who can freely turn herself into her pride flags at will because of her mastery over illusion

[gwimulchorom]

Once upon an age, an unnamed mage struggled to introduce herself as her truest form, instead cycling between various masks in the hopes that people would not see through it all, to find that she was entirely hollow, traumatised beyond measure by how Silverymoon had treated her. 

For someone who had lived most of her life in the company of others, surrounded by people, the sudden isolation had been a nonstop fender bender. Stripped of everything that she had once thought “hers”, she eventually withdrew into herself, convinced the world had despised her for existing and wanting desperately to finish one last job before quietly walking into the fog, never to return. It was best, she’d once thought, to be forgotten - it had been how she had been forced to live, after all.

Even a reunion with her beloved twin sister did not allay her fears: rather, her sister’s success compared to her maimed state only seemed to deepen the rift between them, an ugly inferiority complex thought buried once again rearing their head. Her behavior changed to another defense mechanism, worried for her judgment, and she sought to be as small and unobtrusive as possible, so desperate she was to not become a burden and cause others pain that she would rather bury herself than continue being alive.

When had this changed? It was a story that changed constantly depending on which of her many children you asked. The process hadn’t mattered, argued the mage when she herself was finally asked, more so what had happened afterwards. All that mattered was that someone who had too been largely forgotten, his voice buried and overshadowed by others, had reached out to our protagonist after she had given him an apology cloak, a misunderstanding between them she had felt deeply guilty about.

For the first time, she hadn’t been asked anything or had expectations shackled upon her form (the nooses of academia, of her past, they followed her like specters) and at this, she had been worried for the longest time. How could she bring someone who had been nothing short of kind to her into her life, a mess of constant assassinations, conspiracies and a set of murky morals that was entirely self-serving? Even then, she yearned terribly, as someone who thrived so much on social contact did.

Nowadays, in an era of peace, the South Gate of Waterdeep has an orphanage next to a sprawling, well-maintained temple dedicated to the Lord of the Rack. Next to said opulent keep however is a strangely-ominous tower, its doors guarded by two giant dwarven statues seated on thrones: one of Mith Barak, the good king of the Underdark, and the other of a grinning woman resting her arm over the helmet of what could only be arcane armor.

The King of the Merchants’ name was well-known, for anything you needed moved through his network could easily be arranged for the right amount of gold, and with how friendly and pious he often was when meeting his clients personally, it was difficult even to remember that this had once been the slow-witted youngest son of the Roaringhorns, one who could too be written off as another wastrel and buried evermore.

His roguish sister however was far more difficult to get an audience for. The mysterious Witch of the North only worked on projects she found “interesting”, a bar that seemed nigh-impossible to surmount. Knowing how precise she had turned her craft however, such secrecy seemed almost understandable - and exorbitantly expensive. Of course, most adventurers would argue that it was a small price to pay for equipment she enchanted: being able to spin an entirely different but equally powerful yarn from abstract ideas was her game.

Where of the nameless mage though? She now had many titles, titles bestowed upon her and titles she’d rightfully gained, but she didn’t need a laundry list of titles to feel important when she had finally found a place to truly call home, a position she enjoyed working in and a family that allowed her to heal. Even then, her joint pain followed her every move, the cane filled with secrets she carries never leaving her side at this point.

If asked, her introduction was straightforward:

“Me? You should have already heard of me if you’re in Waterdeep. Though there’s one thing you ought to know at least: Jergal’s quills, I hate the Sword Coast and its problems so much.

Professor Myron Mathuna at your service. Lady of Last Wall, The Topazscaled Gemscaled Mage, Master of Eye of the Storm, Proprietor of The Twins, and The Senseless. My hobbies are crafting, taking in children and teaching - they are our future, and we must invest in them because none of us live forever.

If you’re here, you must have something for me. Out with it, and it’d better be interesting...or else.”

[gwimulchorom]

The lady of Last Wall is an eccentric one, the servants often mention. 

She isn’t evil or abusive, unlike other horror stories from fellow servants in noble families. An odd and sickly mage that required help for a lot of day-to-day affairs seemed a dime a dozen, but what seemed the strangest was how polite she consistently was to those who served her, seeing them as her equals than someone to order around. 

Most of the servants at her place were on Lord Roaringhorn’s request and trusted by them both, helping her tidy her house or bring her parcels to her, but on occasion they would be summoned to help her dress, carry her around or even bathe and feed her, the way her body’s condition seemed to flipflop between being almost entirely independent to nigh incapacitated at times. On especially difficult days, the lord himself would see to her personally, often cradling her gently in his arms and trying to ensure she was fed and kept clean and comfortable even if she couldn’t move. 

For a fully-grown adult, there were occasions where the lady simply retreated into her own mind and became childlike, especially on days where her pain seemed so much that most of her functions were devoted to ensuring she didn’t go unconscious. These days were days where she clung to the lord the moment he picked her up, whimpering softly and allowing his gentleness to comfort her. Everyone in the house knew of their relationship: not related by blood, but as close as siblings, and they never once speculated about the constant platonic comfort they showed each other. It was mere mutual respect and kindness to each other, a gentleness that went both ways. 

The lady seems to treat her wealth with very little thought. Many a time her money was spent on the orphanage and to better the equipment and education of those that needed it: and most of the expenses that the lord himself had were peer reviewed by her as well, seeming to require only the barest of essentials to survive. The servants generally didn’t ask why her only retainer was the handsome, white-haired man that seemed to move fast like the wind, or the sandy-haired, tan-skinned elf whose skin almost looked reflective that called himself her advisor that moved fluidly through her quarters either. 

It wasn’t like the work they had were particularly difficult. They were paid well for chores, and a lot of them had nowhere else to go. Rescued from slavers, trapped in the Underdark or otherwise lost, they came to the lady and lord in their time of most dire need, and the secret held between them was that none of their servants had a contract or terms with them - they were allowed to leave as and when they pleased. 

People flocked to the Lady of Last Wall, for she spoke a language they understood, a language that transcended speaking or writing. She spoke a quiet language of someone who’d seemed to have endured through countless calamities yet retained a gentleness towards those in her employment and didn’t need her to show her wrath. Nobody had lifted a finger against her, and those who’d worked with her enough even seemed to fight for her honor outside of those who gossiped about her lax attitude towards her servants and employees.

She cared not, the way she was sequestered in her tower working on marvels that blew the minds of those that sought her out. Even then, being paid for her expertise was met with disdain, and she only seemed to work on projects that solely interested her. Stories abounded about her aloof nature, but those who truly knew her were aware that she seemed to only reserve her kindness and warmth to the children she had devoted herself to, and those who had made enough of an effort to get to know her. 

Her titles didn’t matter. She was the Lady of Last Wall first. 

[gwimulchorom]

The final layer crumbled in Myron’s grip, and she took a deep inhale before stepping inside the lair room, setting eyes on the sprawling stash of ill-gotten hoarded riches and rare items that laid beyond. 

She’d worked tirelessly for almost a month at this point, with nothing short of those who were supporting her for this. Glancing around for a moment, she’d finally set eyes on the exhausted storm giant slumped over one of the enormous chairs, his clouded blue eyes gaining focus at her approach before she rested her toolbox on her side and managed a bow to her grace. 

“King Hekaton, you are free now,” Myron explained immediately, projecting her voice with a skilful cast of Minor Illusion, all while Milo seemed almost entranced by the hulking figure that ruled over all of giantkind, “The wards that bind you here are no more, and your daughter awaits you outside the desert with your subjects. If you’d be willing to follow us, I can lead you to them.”

“Smallfolk,” Hekaton’s voice was tinged with curiosity, though his haughty attitude did not waver - in a darker timeline, he would have been taken by Myron’s homeland and irrevocably corrupted, “Very well. I am exhausted and need bedrest...but when I feel well enough, you may come to us and speak of a reward. I suspect that Serisse also promised you the same, little mage and your friends, for finding me.” 

“I made a mistake before I came to free you, king Hekaton,” Myron returned his statement with one of remorseful fatigue, “Imyrth is no more, but I drew her ire by slaying her children first. It was inevitable that we would come to blows, but I am not alone. There are others outside too who contributed far more than I did to her death, I’m merely paying my dues in causing her rage in the first place. The less evil dragons in our domain, the better.” 

Hekaton’s misty-eyed glare rested on Myron’s form, his bearded face twitching upwards in a slight smirk seeing the bonethread gloves she wore. “Loathe of me to disagree,” he replied with a booming laugh that seemed like a thunderstorm was brewing overhead, “Let us move. I can hardly bear to stay here any longer, with not a cloud in the sky overhead.” 

Myron nodded, letting the giant pass first before she fell in step with him, deep in thought. When Serisse had reached out, she hadn’t actually thought that far on what she could ask for. They would no doubt pledge their efforts towards aiding them in the war, but with a favor from the king of all giants on top of that? She felt a little too spoilt for choice in this situation, being as discreet as she was about the favours she’d stockpiled from other groups.

In truth, with close enough scrutiny, she wasn’t just “The Witch of the North”. Living up in her ominous tower and peering down towards the people who jockeyed so hard for her skill in crafting was just one of the little joys she derived in life: Mach-One the sentient golem sat comfortably outside her tower, ever vigilant of any chromatic dragon who had designs on Last Wall, and the nigh-endless supply of resources from Zar’dune who’d been ever-so-kind was testament of how far she’d come. 

She just preferred to keep matters discreet. Haruuc was the one who drew all the attention on her behalf, laden with titles as he were and with his consistent visits to Lady Laeral Silverhand. Myron refrained however - Lady Alustriel probably had enough input about her, “she who triggered the Mythal’, that she simply refrained from such visits whenever Haruuc had brought it up. 

Not like Myron was blind to her adoptive brother’s affections either. He’d brought back Syluné Silverhand through the usage of the Maze Engine, and even though he claimed it was mostly work meetings, she knew for certain that it was a good excuse to meet the person he’d had a crush on growing up and had encouraged him to pursue his happiness. She wasn’t looking forward to becoming the sister-in-law of the seven Chosens of Mystra (and she reckoned neither was Muirin really), but if Haruuc was happy she would gladly accept matters and being labeled “senseless”. 

Myron agreed with her titles by and large. She cared little about how the factions perceived her, even from the very beginning: being Zhentarim at the start probably did that to people, and she hardly minded what she was called. If she was both ominous and known widely for her craft, but also known to be foolish...then it was truly unfortunate for those who knew her to have underestimated her. It was why she had made a choice from the very beginning to not enquire what she had now been referred by, her propensity to avoid most meetings and gatherings so well-known that her notoriety for subterfuge had only grown. 

Who walked around with “spymaster” stamped on their foreheads anyway? It was silly and unproductive if everyone knew that you had tabs on them...and Myron was happy to keep her dealings as discreet as possible that way. There were little to no reason to get the factions involved in everything she did, they had always been a means to an end like most other things Myron had kept tabs on, like the neatly-arranged stash of books she had in her tower. 

It was good to just be “the senseless one”, Myron agreed to herself as she put the final chapter of “A Comprehensive History of the Dwarven Kingdoms” back inside her shelves. 

That was how people never saw her coming, and she was comfortable in that knowledge that even to the end, the strongest people still couldn’t pierce through her clumsy, unreliable disguise. 

[gwimulchorom]

“Another abandoned child in the drop-off box,” reports the acolyte that comes to Myron with a tiny, swaddled-up goblin baby that sleeps peacefully even when Myron accepts him, “Probably pirates from the Dock Ward that dropped their child off, didn’t want the kid growing up being swept up in a lifestyle like theirs and heard of us taking in orphans.” 

“Mmm,” Myron rests the baby in one arm, bringing him to one of the empty cots before setting him down gently into it, “Whatever speculation we have of his parents isn’t relevant anymore. We’d need more space down the line to help more children, considering the expansions we have planned. I can only foresee more orphans when the war finally starts.” 

The drow man sighs - a lanky ex-slave Haruuc had rescued from duergar slavers, he preferred only to be referred to as “Seven”, the number he’d been assigned there. “You know the master has been training some of the older children on his own in the hopes of having some sort of resistance when the cult you two mention counterattack,” he replies in soft protest, “Even then, we’re just acolytes. None of them really are equipped for war...mostly ex-slaves that were commoners who came to you all. What is the plan then?” 

Myron plays with the baby, letting him tug at two of her gloved fingers before he chomps down on her thumb, trying to mutilate it with gooey gums. “I’m not a fan of him doing that, but I know the children were willing and ready to do so. You know how I feel about using children as tools of war,” she sighs, tickling the baby on the stomach when he finally lets go, “Even then, we should have enough to do our due diligence. We’d probably see a surge of orphans during wartime, so all we can do is to try and accept as many as we can and hope for the best.” 

“You’re not answering the question,” Seven leans against the doorframe with arms crossed, the two scimitars on his belt easily coming to view, “Do you think Last Wall is ready to fight this war?” 

“We have to be,” Myron tucks the baby in again after wiping her hand on the rags he’d been wrapped in moments earlier, “What else are we going to do? Roll over and admit defeat? Gods know no mercy, and when they’re set on their paths, us mortals have no choice but to fight back. I think you should know more than most how that struggle looks like.” 

“Eilistraee defend us,” Seven rests a hand on his chest and offers Myron a bow, “I understand now. Even when we choose peace, those who seek trifles with us will continue to find us. Thus is life.” 

“Thus is life,” Myron repeats, checking on the other cots of mostly sleeping babies, “Kill or be killed. Strike first before they come for you. These are my governing principles, as one of mine, and this is something you probably already know well working for me for so long.” 

Seven flicks his ears back. “I’ve heard that you wanted to strike at the Sorceress of the Sands, my liege. You seem to have your mind set on such a mentality - to strike first before anyone else is able to lash back out,” he admits, resting against the doorframe again, “It will be a difficult fight...but nonetheless, probably a fruitful one. I wish you luck, as always.” 

“I’ll need it,” Myron laughs, shaking her head as she leans on her cane, “I’d desperately need a miracle to ensure my victory. Or I die trying...whichever comes first, but an outcome I’d already planned for.” 

[gwimulchorom]

Myron has a different dream from the rest of her companions that night. 

She awakens staring up at a wine-red colored tree, the leaves swirling around it as she notices the glowing statues of the foxes flanking the tree itself before a familiar elven woman, one who’d showed herself moments earlier to mock Sophie for her hubris, leaps down from it, tilting her head to stare at her follower as if studying her. 

“Oh,” Myron scrambles to her feet: agile, uninhibited, her soul being her own and not fraught with constant pain, “I didn’t think you’d send me a dream like this, was there something you might’ve needed from me?” 

“No, I was just bored. Sending your companions where they’d eventually take their current paths to get ahead was kinda meh. Just hoping they’d make the right choices,” the goddess of stealth and goodly adventurers chirps, flicking her wine-red hair behind her shoulders, “You’ll go spectate too later, I just wanted to take a bit of time to--” 

Drailaene leans down, before gently tapping Myron on the nose with a slender, manicured finger. “--give you your Wishes back. You used both of yours to save your friends, right?” she asks, grinning brightly, “I like that, I really do. ...oh, oops, did I give you an extra Wish? Maybe I had.” 

Myron examines her hands, exhaling shakily. “I can’t use the Wishes on others now, I suppose. That’s why you came to me personally,” she confirms, before nodding to herself with a smile, “I’ll take care of myself. Will you allow me to sort out my thoughts, then? I have a few requests.” 

She watches the elf saunter towards her tree, leaning against it with arms folded. “Sure,” Drailaene replies with a grin, “I have lots of time for you to think about what you want. Remember, put yourself first this time. I promise, if you’re going to go the way you’re going now, you’re going to have plenty of Wishes to go around for the others.” 

“I wish for the best possible set of crafting tools I can have,” Myron begins after a long silence, “It’s one of two things I love doing. If I can do it as well as I can, I can make more items that can protect everyone I care for, and I want to be the best possible crafter I can be for them.” 

Drailaene snaps her fingers, before flourishing her hand forth in a dramatic sweeping motion. “Done,” she hums in a singsong tone, “Two more to go, and remember...these are your wishes, nobody else’s.” 

Myron swallows, nodding. “I wish to master the feat that allows me to craft greater magical items. If this opens up a path for me to craft lesser divine items with your and Chanserie’s blessing, it would grant my group options,” she continues, leaning back as she sits down across Drailaene, “Does that count as taking better care of myself? An additional feat for myself.” 

Drailaene swept forward, lightly placing her hand on Myron’s head before gently ruffling her hair, her eyes glowing with a comforting glint. “That’s done too. Anything else? You need time to think about that- no, I know what your last wish is,” she jokes, before she trails her finger down Myron’s head, towards her chest and tapping it once, “Unbinding yourself from your occupational limit. You have a twin sister that have the same thing. I can tell you’ve been thinking about it.” 

“That’s cheating,” Myron puffs her cheeks out with a grumble, before she drops her stance, “Thank you. I know you wanted to ensure that I used the wishes on myself and nobody else, which was why you approached me here. You’re the best wine aunt I’ve ever had.” 

“I’m the only wine aunt you’d ever have,” Drailaene scoffs, before gently laying Myron down to a resting position, “Now, sleep. We can discuss further on these later...don’t worry about it!” 

Myron closes her eyes, curling up on her side and drifted off a second time. 

[gwimulchorom]

i decided im making my life about love, about comfort, about building a physical safe space for whoever wants to enter it, about light, about satiety and about understanding and compassion

[gwimulchorom]

yes i have a thing for self-loathing fictional characters being loved and in the process learning to love themselves and no that does not imply anything about me personally as a person i swear

[gwimulchorom]

Hot take but canes are not a limited resource. Most mobility aids aren’t but canes especially. Canes are $20 at a lot of stores like CVS, Walmart, etc. You aren’t taking that resource away from “real” disabled people (hint: you ARE a real disabled person) in fact buying more canes creates more demand and works to make more stores carry them for better prices. You aren’t faking being disabled or hurting disabled people, you’re working to make canes more accessible which is helping disabled people.

Get the cane.

[gwimulchorom]

*Kicks down the door* YOU KNOW WHUMPY TROPES I LOVE SO MUCH BUT BARELY EVER SEE?

MAGIC FATIGUE/EXHAUSTION/OVERUSE.

Give me those sweet side effects of overusing magic:

Getting lightheaded and weak, struggling to stand let alone keep fighting

"Are you ok?" "Yeah I'm fine. *immediately faceplants because their legs can't support their weight anymore*"

F a i n t i n g

Physical injuries like burns, broken bones, etc

The risk of permanent damage either physically or mentally

Can I get uuuuhhhhh "loses a sense either temporarily or permanently depending on the severity of the overuse"?

Stopping their heart (cue the team scrambling to drag their dumbass friend back from death)

THERE'S SO MUCH YOU CAN DO AND I SO RARELY SEE IT.