#and jasmine would be a bard!

[cubbihue]

Hey if Hazel, Dev, and the gang play DnD, what do you think they would play as.... and how who would be the fortunate(or unfortunate) DM?

When I was 10, my older brother would play massive D&D campaigns in the living room. He tried teaching me the mechanics but it was too much and too boring for my small brain. Instead, I was far more fascinated with things like Warrior Cats.

Apparently Warrior Cats has a d&d game though. So. The kids would all play that instead!

Dev would eventually be roped into joining. Mainly because when you're sitting with a table of kids doing storytelling, you end up getting very invested, and very frustrated when they make the very wrong choices!!!

Bitties Series: [Start] > [Previous] > [Next]

[thewritetofreespeech]

Gale x Tav

words: 885 rating: T pairing: Gale x Tav summary: As in all things, it seems, you and Gale dance to the sound of your own music. tags: Fluff, Domestic Fluff, so much fluff, I hope you brushed your teeth today, You/Gale scenario, more gender neutral than the others

Ao3 - 1000 Night Series

---------------------------🟣----------------------------------

There were many things that you loved about Gale’s home. First, and most importantly, Gale was in it. Second to that was you liked all the ‘Gale-ish’ touches around the home. His books, of course. His propensity to collect shiny stones like a magpie under the guise of ‘research’ or some arcane activity, but in reality you think he just liked them. The wear spots in the kitchen counter where he stood to make meals, faded from constant use. But your favorite thing about the home, apart from Gale, was the view.

When he showed you visions of Waterdeep from his terrace on that first night they shared, you had been mesmerized by the view. Many a night your mind would drift back to that moment and think not just about being with Gale, but the memory of that view and how much you wished for it to be reality.

Now it was your. The view. The terrace. Gale. And just as you had told him that night, the reality was much better than the illusion.

Looking over the ocean. Listening to the waves brush against the sand. And, if you listened very closely, you could hear music & revelry from some of the bards and patrons at one the taverns down the road. Also enjoying the night air and peaceful moments left freely to them.

“What a brilliant scene.” you turned to look over your shoulder at Gale. Standing in the entry way. A soft, pleased smile on his face as he watched you watching the horizon. “The sunset isn’t bad either. What I would have given some time ago to make this vision a reality. I feel compelled to pinch myself.” You chuckled as you watched Gale move to take his place on his favorite spot. His eyes back on you once he was settled. “Enjoying the view, my love?”

“More the music.”

You tilted your head towards the faint sounds and Gale followed suit. Seeming to be straining to hear it, but eventually picking up on the notes drifting on the air. “Ah yes. Sounds like they’re having fun.” You agreed but said nothing as you continued to just listen. “Do you want wish to join them? I’m sure we could easily find which tavern all the commotion is at quickly with your tracking skills.”

The adventurer chuckled. “No. I don’t think so.” Though it did sound fun, you weren’t interested in joining. Just admiring. “It would be nice to dance though.”

“Oh, well that is a problem easily remedied.”

Gale stood up. A confident, cheeky smile on his lips as he offered you his hand. “Are you serious?” You asked in jovial disbelief.

“I’m no Wyll Ravengard,” he had clearly seen their Blade practicing his dance moves in an attempt to woe you, but for the sake of their friendship Gale elected not to acknowledge it, “but I can handle a simple box step.”

You grinned, then took his hand and let yourself be pulled into Gale’s arms. One hand linking your offered one together while the other rested at the small of your back. His eyes were completely fixed on you as they started to sway to the music.

The space on the terrace was small. Not a lot of room for anything dramatic in terms of footwork, but plenty of space for Gale’s simple box step. Your head rested on his chest. Lost in the movement and Gale’s scent, coupled with salt & jasmine that miraculously showed up on the windowsill potting plants after you mentioned once that you liked their fragrance. With your ear to his chest you could hear his heartbeat, along with a gentle hum of the music for a song that they can barely hear but Gale seemed to recognize.

You weren’t sure how long they were dancing for before you lifted her head from its spot and leaned up to kiss him. Their dancing stops, along with the music. Although, the music may have still been playing in the background, it simply didn’t matter anymore. Nothing mattered right now except you and Gale.

“It’s dark now.” You were confused for a moment after Gale’s announcement, but then realized that the sun had indeed finally sunk down past the waves. The sky not completely dark but a faded shade of lavender, bleeding into indigo as the lights from the other homes began to freckle the shoreline like stars. “Shall we go inside?”

“Not yet.” This moment felt precious. Like that moment in the Weave they shared and you first realized you had feelings for him. When he realized that you had feelings for him after you let your mind’s eye say what you couldn’t. When they realized they may both have feelings for each other. “Can we stay here a bit longer? Keep dancing?”

Gale smiled and was already starting to sway again when he told her, “Whatever you want my love.”

They dance until the sky & sea became a matching shade to darkness. Melding together like they soon would be. Neither one had to ask. It was clear they both knew where this was going. Still, the couple danced to the music and their own tune for a while longer. Holding to the moment for as long as they could while they held onto each other.

[an-excellent-choice]

Disney Princess and their possible classes in BG3 (inspired from that youtube vid) with one sentence explanations. (I'm too lazy)

Snow White: Bard

She caught the attention of a prince with her singing and charmed (accidentally?) a lot of people to helping her.

Cinderella: Cleric

Kind and healer type with her helpful also believes and has faith in her dreams. Has a the fairy godmother(god) that helps her.

Ariel: Warlock

Literally made a deal with Ursula to get a chance to achieve her goals and dreams

Belle: Wizard

Inquisitive, book loving and takes in stride the magic surrounding her. She tries to learn more about the magic rather than ignoring it.

Jasmine: Rogue

She soooo many sneaking scenes. Not to mention she sees through lies so easily.

Mulan: Monk

Kinda predictable to class her in Monk but she doesn't use a lot of weapons when fighting. Majority of the time she improvs and goes with hand to hand combat. Very aware of her surroundings

Tiana: Paladin

She had a dream to fulfill her father's dream and she worked hard to fulfill it. Literally got turned into frog but the eyes are still on getting that restaurant. (kinda even became oathbreaker when she finally realize she can prioritize a person she loves over that dream)

Rapunzel: Fighter

Gurl was so ready to fight anytime. She also used everything as a weapon with efficiency

Merida: Barbarian

Ranger would have been too obvious, she has a temper and rushes into actions without thinking the consequences

Moana: Sorcerer

A natural. She has the talent and the easy going attitude to go with the flow of what she discovers

[aramblingjay]

After summers of fasting I feel hunger at last Geraskier, touch-starved, bed sharing (2K)

They meet that spring. And the one after, and the one after, and the one after, until it’s six winters later and Geralt leads Roach down the trail from Kaer Morhen with his saddlebags stocked full of human-safe potions and spare lute strings and a bright maroon doublet too small to have the faintest hope of fitting him.

ao3

The first winter he returns to Kaer Morhen, Geralt is asked to describe Jaskier.

“We hear you’ve started traveling with a companion,” Eskel says over dinner. Lambert and Coën go a little too still in the corner to not be listening, and even Vesemir subtly turns his head in their direction—everyone’s been wondering, evidently, and Eskel has been chosen as the best person to pose the question.

“Yes,” he agrees, taking another bite of whatever it is Lambert has decided to pass off as dinner. Some kind of meat, perhaps? It powders in his mouth like chalk.

To his credit, Eskel doesn’t ask who the companion is. “What are they like?” he asks instead, and Geralt doesn’t miss the they. It protects him implicitly the way Eskel always has, assuming nothing, allowing him to reveal exactly as much or as little as he wants, and Geralt is reminded all over again why he’s never been able to deny Eskel anything.

Including this, so he tries to find the right words. It was never his strength, even back when he still had red hair and brown eyes and knew of Witchers only as a fiction told to scare disobedient kids, but it’s even harder now.

“He’s—”

The first description which comes to mind is loud, but that isn’t quite right. Jaskier is loud only in the sense that Geralt is always aware of his presence, a whisper of citrus and jasmine beside him. And he hums incessantly, sometimes accompanied by the twang of his lute, sometimes not—but it isn’t the kind of overbearing, obtrusive singing that loud would suggest. Jaskier’s music is just there, a constant background, as familiar to him now as the chirping of birds and rustling of leaves in the wind.

He’s a bard, Geralt considers saying, but that doesn’t capture the essence of Jaskier, almost suggests he’s nothing without a tune on his lips.

He’s brave. Certainly, he’s the first human Geralt’s met that has never, not once, smelled like fear around him, even when Geralt’s eyes are inky black and he’s more monster than man. But Geralt doesn’t know if that’s bravery or foolhardy, and besides, true bravery is to run toward that which you fear. To not feel the fear at all—that’s something else entirely.

He’s different. True. Not nearly enough to explain.

“He’s kind,” Geralt says finally, and it feels right. There is no kindness to be found here at Kaer Morhen—even Eskel, for all his protectiveness, is not kind. No Witchers are, no Witchers are allowed to be. But Jaskier is the opposite of a Witcher, vivacious like no one Geralt has ever known before, impulsive and free-spirited and wholly kind.

Eskel’s eyes go strangely soft. “Oh, Wolf,” he murmurs, so low only a Witcher could hear.

Geralt looks away. “Anyway, I doubt I will see him again come spring.”

It’s not a lie. Jaskier has undoubtedly moved on to pastures new, wintering in Oxenfurt or Lettenhove or some other place that Witchers wouldn’t set foot, somewhere bright and lively to keep the chill at bay. The chance that their paths will randomly cross again once Geralt comes down the trail in a few months’ time is slim, and he doesn’t expect Jaskier to wait for him either. Jaskier is kind, but not infinitely so, and surely spending another year on the Path beside a Witcher who grunts more than speaks is the last thing he wants.

It’s not a lie, but the words taste bitter on his tongue anyway.

-

They do meet that spring. And the one after, and the one after, and the one after, until it’s six winters later and Geralt leads Roach down the trail from Kaer Morhen with his saddlebags stocked full of human-safe potions and spare lute strings and a bright maroon doublet too small to have the faintest hope of fitting him.

Geralt dismounts Roach outside The Wolf’s Snout, a grimy-looking inn with a half-broken fence surrounding it, five days’ trek from the bottom of the trail. It is further than he usually travels before stopping—the Kaedweni innkeepers closer to Kaer Morhen are more used to Witchers popping in than those this far out.

(But Jaskier mentioned this inn to him last year, so. Here he is)

He has yet to meet Jaskier in the same inn twice, but somehow they always find each other in one establishment or another on the outskirts of Kaedwen. Geralt no longer doubts whether their paths will cross, the question is only when.

Though he knows Jaskier tends to winter close to the coast, he does not ask how or why Jaskier ends up in Kaedwen every spring. Such a gift is too precious to jeopardize, either by his clumsy questioning or his even clumsier acknowledgment.

Geralt steps inside the inn to a raucous dining area, every available table surrounded by men with red cheeks and loud voices, clearly well on the ale. A good bard would make a pretty coin or two here, he thinks idly, and wonders if that’s why Jaskier mentioned it.

The innkeeper is a short, wiry woman with sharp eyes that rake him from top to bottom as he approaches her.

“Room for the night?” he asks, careful to speak just loud enough to be heard over the din. The innkeeper will know, of course, but nobody else seems to have clocked that he’s a Witcher, and the longer he keeps it that way the smoother his stay will be.

“I won’t be having any trouble here tonight,” she says, but her voice isn’t hostile.

“I won’t give you any.”

A corner of her mouth lifts. “And payment up front. How many nights you staying?”

Several coppers lighter, Geralt ends up in a rather spacious room at the very end of the hall, complete with a bed large enough for two (or one broad Witcher), a second small bed pushed up against a window, a fireplace, and a round tub. The main bed even comes with a feather-padded blanket for warmth. Compared to his usual accommodations, it’s a veritable palace.

He scowls, and dumps his saddlebags in a corner. All this luxury is largely wasted on him, and does little to fill the hollow in his chest that has only grown with every step away from Kaer Morhen.

There’s not much to do here besides take in the finery and rest, so he casts Igni to light a fire and settles into the bed rather quickly. Some dinner would be nice, perhaps, but everything smelled a little too salted and seasoned downstairs—normally he can stomach just about anything, but several months of pampering over winter have narrowed his palette considerably, and it’ll take at least a few weeks time to remember how not to give a fuck again.

Sleep finds him almost immediately after that. It should be one of the most comfortable nights he’s had outside the keep in recent memory, but the emptiness of the room aches in his chest like a physical, tangible thing.

-

He wakes to citrus and jasmine and a voice he would know anywhere.

“She told me you were in—ah, Geralt. Here you are. Lovely to see you again after a long winter.” Jaskier steps further into the room until he’s fully illuminated by the firelight. He looks good, Geralt surmises, well-fed and looked-after. “Don’t mind me. Coin is short and this room is entirely paid for, so I’ll be here for the night.”

It’s phrased as a statement but intended as a question.

Geralt just grunts his assent and drifts back to sleep smiling.

-

They fall into the familiar routine just as they have every year before. It’s comfortable, safe, easy.

Geralt kills monsters and Jaskier sings about it.

Jaskier sleeps with fine ladies (and more than one fine lord), and Geralt scares away their angry spouses with a well-placed intimidating look.

Geralt keeps them safe, and Jaskier keeps them fed, the coin he earns from one night of performing usually triple what Geralt could even hope to earn from a single contract.

Jaskier smiles at him and worries after him and touches him with a care no one’s taken since he was a boy, and Geralt tries to understand what it all means.

The ache in his chest is an old, forgotten thing.

-

Their seventh spring, he once again stops at The Wolf’s Snout.

(He’s never waited in the same inn twice before, until now, but he refuses to consider what that might mean)

This time, he’s awake. Waiting up, one could call it, though the very idea is preposterous—Witchers don’t have anyone worth waiting up for, and the chance to sleep in a bed is a precious commodity on the Path. No one is coming home to a Witcher.

But then there’s a lyrical knock at the door—two taps, and then a faster three, the beat of a song he doesn’t know—and Jaskier is there. Framed in the doorway, dressed from head to toe in bright blue and green that should irritate his eyes but doesn’t, not in the slightest, only makes something loosen in his chest that’s been taut for too long.

Jaskier is there. Here. With him, again, for the seventh spring in a row, despite it all.

“You’re awake,” Jaskier says, and his voice is missing some of its usual brightness, its usual whimsical nonchalance, but it’s so good to hear all the same.

“Hmm.”

And Jaskier shouldn’t be able to read what that means, just like he shouldn’t be here in a beaten-down inn along the forgotten backwater of Kaedwen about to step into a room already occupied by a Witcher, but Jaskier is brave and different and kind and entirely incapable of ever doing what he should.

So of course, Jaskier only says, “Yeah, me too,” like he hears the words Geralt doesn’t even know how to form in the privacy of his own mind, and steps over the threshold.

It feels significant, somehow. A bigger step than across a single plank of wood.

He stays silent, watching as Jaskier drops his bags in a heap by the door and undresses down to his smalls in the half-darkness.

There’s only one bed in this room. Geralt asked for a room and the innkeeper offered this one and he didn’t spend more than a second thinking about it before accepting. Witchers can’t be picky, and Jaskier has slept on the floor many a time—they both have, on cold and dirty forest floors far more uncomfortable than anything this inn could offer.

But.

“What are we doing here, Geralt?” Jaskier asks softly, hovering by the edge of the bed but making no move to come closer.

Geralt doesn’t have an answer. But he shifts just slightly on the bed, an invitation—and Jaskier lies down in the open space next to him, no trace of fear anywhere in his scent even now—and for the first time since the mutagens burned away every part of the boy he used to be, Geralt wants.

-

The next year, Jaskier doesn’t come.

Geralt waits at The Wolf’s Snout for a fortnight, until he can’t delay going back on the Path any longer, and then another day just to be totally, completely sure.

Jaskier never comes.

He packs up his things, never considers leaving behind the human-safe potions or the lute strings or the too-small doublet even though they add weight to Roach’s pack—just shoves it all into the bottom of his satchel along with his emotions and his hopes and the weird sense of betrayal he has no right to feel, and walks the Path.

Alone, as he was meant to.

The ache is back, a monster under his skin. He feels cold and tired and empty, but a Witcher isn’t made to break, so he puts one foot in front of the other in front of the other until it’s winter again.

He collapses into Eskel’s arms the moment he’s back in the keep, grateful to still have one person who hasn’t left, and his eyes burn.

If he could cry—he can’t, so it doesn’t matter. But if he could, he would probably drown.

-

It’s foolishness, to go back to the same inn. It’s foolishness, and Geralt is not a fool, but he can’t help himself.

Just to be sure. Just to be absolutely certain Jaskier has left this life, left him, and then he’ll walk the Path and never ever return here again.

But he opens the door to his preferred room, an extra three coppers per night now but worth it just for the memory of having slept beside Jaskier in this bed, and it isn’t empty.

Jaskier is there.

His hair is longer. He’s dressed in deep maroon, and there are bags under his eyes like he hasn’t slept in days, and he smells like he hasn’t showered since he left wherever he’s been for so long—and he’s the most beautiful thing Geralt has ever seen.

“Hi,” Jaskier says, tentatively, like he’s not sure if he’ll be welcome. Like Geralt hasn’t spent the last year withering away at the prospect of never seeing him again.

“Jaskier.” He can’t find any other words. He can’t think of any that matter more than this, saying a name he thought he’d have to bury in the deepest corner of his mind forever, lest the mere memory of it reduce him to dust.

“Sorry I wasn’t here last year. It’s a long story involving—”

“Come here,” Geralt whispers, cutting him off. His voice breaks, but it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter, all that matters is Jaskier standing on the other side of the room. “Please.” Witchers don’t beg but he isn’t a Witcher in this moment, just a man, old and weary and aching. “Please.”

“Oh, Geralt.” Jaskier is front of him in a flash. “Darling, I’m right here. I’m right here, I promise.”

That familiar hand reaches out and rests on his chest—he feels it, the slightest pressure when those long fingers brush against his tunic, the searing warmth of Jaskier’s skin on his own even with two layers of cotton in between.

Citrus and jasmine, the jackrabbit beat of Jaskier’s heart, and that soft, gentle warmth—Geralt closes his eyes and comes home.

[hughjidiot]

How the rest of the Pahkitew Island cast would react to a Shawn/Jasmine/Sammy polycule:

Dave: "... Well Shawn, I think I speak for every man here when I say congratulations, you son of a bitch."

Topher: "No, no, no, that's not how this works! A love triangle subplot is supposed to take at least half a season and end with at least one party heartbroken! Didn't any of you watch seasons three and five?"

Rodney: "Wait, you can have more than one girlfriend?? Why didn't anyone tell me that was an option?!"

Leonard: "Huh, I didn't know Shawn multi-classed into a bard."

Beardo: (makes the bow-chika-bow-wow sfx)

Sugar: "Soooo how big of a cake are we talking for a three‐person wedding?"

Ella: "Oh my... Sky, I don't suppose you, Dave and I could-?"

Sky: (to Ella) "NO. No no no no no no no!"

Max: "What's this feeling in my chest? I love the idea of Samey and Jasmine being together, but I hate Shawn for also being invovled!"

Scarlett: (to Max) "That would be envy, you emotionally-stunted garden gnome."

Amy: (drops dead of an anger-induced aneurysm upon seeing Sammy with a boyfriend and a girlfriend)

[ohmywyll]

Silly Wyll Questions I Thought Of:

What's his height? I don't think he has a canon height and if he does, please tell me! I think he is 5'9 or 5'10. He never struck me as a really tall man.

Outside of his canon hobbies, what else do you think he likes doing? I think he likes drawing and pressing flowers into his journal.

Fragrance? I believe he uses jasmine oil. So I think he loves floral scents.

He has his mother's eyes. What else do you think he got from her? I think his smile.

He has a tapestry in his tent. Where do you think he got it? Why did it call to him? I like to think it's a gift someone gave him after he helped them in his early years of being the Blade.

How do you think he is described in bard songs? His stone eye, scarred face, and charming smile definitely get a mention.

That's all I got for now. Please answers if you want! I would love to know your thoughts.

[nevcrmine]

announcing  the  arrival  of  SELIN  of  house  MARTELL,  the  PRINCESS  of  SUNSPEAR.  whispers  among  the  court  name  them  to  be  both  VISIONARY  and  INDULGENT  in  disposition,  and  those  closest  to  them  speak  to  their  interests  in  painting.  if  we  bards  could  compose  a  song  for  them,  it  might  tell  stories  of  bare skin on sun drenched balconies; a warmth that burns and consumes if wallowed in too long / whispers in the dead of night; as intangible and fleeting as the breeze, gone when you awaken fully / the ache of potential when it catches in your throat; you see their folly but they do not see you.  the  seven  whisper  to  their  most  devout  queen  as  she  sleeps,  making  her  question  where  their  loyalties  truly  lie.  are  they  right  to  whisper?  for  their  thoughts  have  lingered  close  to  treasonous  of  late.

# basic information.

official  name:  selin (pronounced celine).  nicknames:  sel.  noble  title:  princess of sunspear.  date  of  birth:  17th day of the eight month.  age:  30.  birthplace and home:  sunspear.  nationality:  dornish.  gender:  cis woman.   pronouns:  she/her.   orientation:  biromantic bisexual.  monikers:  the desert rose, crimson mirage, the kiss of dorne.  languages:  common tongue, high valyrian, some rhoynish phrases, a smattering of braavosi, lyseni, and volantene.   accent:  very clearly dornish. her speech cadence is slightly musical with a casual command of language that feels effortless, yet sharp and biting underneath.

# physical information.

faceclaim:  deniz baysal. hair:  dark brown, very long and either loosely braided or cascading wildly over her shoulders.  eyes: brown.  height:  five feet, seven inches.   build:  slender, athletic.  scent:  jasmine, orange blossom, and incense.  dominant  hand:  right.   allergies:  none.  scars:  a couple along her hands from childhood lessons on handling weapons.  distinguishing  features:  exceptionally long hair and a large, bright smile.   clothing  style:  flowing silk dresses that mirror the colors of life in dorne: vibrant reds, sunset oranges, deep golds. she adorns herself in jewelry shaped like snakes, suns, and roses. her shoulders are often bare and she always appears a little undone, but intentionally so.

# personality.

label:  the painted viper.   mbti:  enfp.   enneagram:  4w3 - the aristocrat.   element:  fire.    star   sign:  leo.    temperament:   sanguine-choleric (fun-loving, charismatic, social, passionate/strong-willed, ambitious, temperamental, strategic when needed).  character   inspirations:   oberyn martell, dorian gray, éowyn, princess jasmine.   deadly   sin:   lust & pride.   heavenly   virtue:   diligence & charity.    godly   parent:   dionysus + apollo.

# drives.

hobbies:  painting, astronomy, dancing, gambling, storytelling, spear combat. religion:  faith of the seven, but not devout in the slightest. alliance:  tbd.  personal goals:  living up to the Martell name while still carving out her own identity, proving herself equally as capable as her siblings in the eyes of her father + the elders.  would they choose family or power?  family.

# familial ties.

father:  prince doran martell. mother:  princess carynne martell. eldest sister:  sabriye. elder brother:  tbd. sand half-sibling:  tbd. spouse: n/a.

# narrative.

The youngest and final daughter within the house of the sun.

Treasured. Beloved. Overlooked.

Her youth was spent watching snakes sun themselves on stone walls. She chased her siblings through palm gardens, heard her mother's silk slippers slap across the floors, and knew from her first breath that she was royalty. Adored and fawned over, spoiled beyond imagination, yet highly aware of the expectations placed upon her from a tender age: to be clever and deadly if she wanted to keep her place. In Dorne, being borne a girl did not make Selin any softer or less valuable than her siblings, particularly when her sister stood first in line to ascend the throne.

A role she never appeared to want, but one Selin covets.

Raised to value loyalty to her bloodline above almost all else, from a young age she garnered a devotion to protecting the family's honor, reputation, and ambitions foremost. Some tutelage absorbed into her skin, other lessons have rolled off like beads of sweat under the unforgiving Dornish sun. A true Martell, she possesses an inner fire–– bold, spirited, impulsive, and deeply unapologetic for being herself. Self worth is never a question to behold for the Desert Rose.

With such confidence, she embraces Dorne’s open attitudes fully. Where others see limits, Selin only views beauty and possibility... in affairs, parties, feasts, art, life. She paints, she dreams, she seduces; all threads weaving her deep inner vision of what the world could be, not merely self-indulgent for the sake of it. There is a joy in living for the pleasure of magnificent things, intoxicating people, and experiences that heighten the senses. It creates a personal magnetism, it makes her witty and quick to laugh, or passionate in ways that both inspire and terrify.

Because underneath the silks and smiles, there is undeniable venom.

Like a desert storm, her emotions immediately turn violent and volatile if she’s wronged, insulted, or dismissed–– intentionally or otherwise. And forgiveness is hard earned by those outside of her immediate family. Capable of wielding a blade or poison when necessary, she might prefer pleasure and merriment, but she deeply understands the art of war and observes ongoing political discourse from the corners. Unfortunately it is this duality which hinders her claim to be taken seriously by the older generation, who still deem her too reckless and youthful to handle "real" matters.

All of the affairs and indulgence do not speak to her capabilities as a leader, but they bend how others view Selin. Her father especially. Doran greatly loves and exalts his youngest, but her unpredictability terrifies him. Where he places full faith in her eldest sister, Sabriye, as the calm source of logic, he doesn’t trust Selin not to bring emotion-driven upheaval into a delicate game of strategy.

Eternally burning with a desire to prove herself, she's now taken on her decadent lifestyle in a partial act of rebellion. Since the powers that be will not consider her a worthwhile voice in their courts then she will do as she pleases, reputation and disapproval be damned. If a coddled role is the one set out for her, then she will make it their problem, now and always. Perhaps it's merely a way to soothe the gnawing ache of not being enough, of never reaching their approval.

[kittenintheden]

✨Let's talk about OCs!✨How would you describe your OC's personality/aesthetic? What's your favourite thing about them? Tell us a fun fact(s) about your OC or their creation!

❤️Send this to at least 3 people to spread some OC appreciation!❤️

<3

aw yay thank you, love talking about my girl.

so this is Ori.

Full name: Orianna Duskhill Race: Half-elf shadow fey (dark elves from the Shadowfell) Age: 34 Class: Bard/Sorcerer

Ori began existence as my character in the DnD campaign I play with some friends. She was initially a woman without a memory of her life before waking up in campaign, so she didn't have a lot of backstory informing her personality. I created her as a charismatic, outgoing, supportive, bubbly, klutzy, slutty Aberrant Mind sorcerer who was full of dark shadow magic that clashed with her core personality and pastel goth rockabilly aesthetic. She also plays drums in a metal band.

When BG3 came out, I recreated her in-game without expecting much. That ship has sailed. She officially became a character of the world to me at that point.

I decided to start NYS on a lark because I was feeling the writing bug and that's when I decided to flesh out her character more fully. She got an actual backstory that tied her into the world and the campaign, she gained a sibling, and I switched her class to bard specifically because I wanted to tie her into the College of Whispers for plot reasons.

From there, she just sort of... became who she is. I wrote her as initially mistrustful and single-minded, with a darker past and a heavier lean on her courtly training to charm people so they don't ask too many questions. As Ori herself has said of her night-blooming jasmine tattoos, "pretty on the surface, poison underneath."

But at her core, even in her very first iteration, Ori has always been a person who wants to love people. She just needed to meet a delightful band of chucklefucks and trauma bond with them in order to bring it out and allow herself to care the way she's always wanted to.

It's been a ride to create a character who used their class abilities for subterfuge and espionage, but discovers that those same abilities can be used to protect and bond.

My favorite thing about Ori is that I made her intentionally complex. She's messy, mortal, loyal, loving, silly, kind, vicious, cunning, and passionate, all rolled into a pretty pastel-haired bluegrass-playing ball. She's also a squishy klutz because dexterity is her dump stat.

Additional fun fact: her surname is supposed to sound like "does kill."

I've also had a fucking TON of fun writing a Tav who's been around the block and has the history to clock a charlatan a mile away because she plays the game herself.

[real-fire-emblem-takes]

If I was marrying Askr I would make Embla my maid of honor.

I would want her to see all the action. I would wiggle my eyebrows so hard at her as our lips make love. I want her to see me run my fingers through Askr’s thick, jasmine scented hair, clutching the back of his perfect neck. I want her to see him dip my elegant body at the perfect angle, his strength greater than all the Divine Dragons combined. His touch would have the world’s greatest love stories woven. I want her to see the all devouring devotion in our eyes. I want her to hear me whisper into Askr’s ear, tickling the coat of fur, that I am his and he is mine. Askr would smile and chuckle, and tell me that he has never been happier than he is today. He vows to protect me, uttering sweet poems that would drive the bards of the land to tears. I want Embla to see our future flash by in her eyes, all of the missed opportunities painting me in her place.

Then he’ll take me down to the floor of the church-

what did embla do to you.

[flootfloot]

Since i has my OC asks open. Here’s a quick reference regarding names and a little bit about each of them

Left: Jasmine (they/them)

A anxious world hopper who’s trying their best to adapt to several worlds that make no sense.

Right: Parry (any)

A bird bard with very few brain cells but is a social butterfly and is able to get out of tricky situations. Member of the soulfire adventuring party

Left: Dr. Verve (he/him)

A maniac who host several shows about amputation and modification to the body. (Think pimple popper but on a much bigger extreme)

Right: Lennot (she/they)

A hot head blacksmith who became a lich to escape her fears of immortality. Founder of the Soufire adventuring party.

Left: Agnus (she/her)

A Owl wizard who’s incredibly curious and uses mind magic to seek knowlege from others. One of the members of the SoulFire adventuring party

Right: Branch (he/they)

A sage of the fall. (Fall season) was bitten by a zombie but was successfully revived. Lives a half life and given being half zombie, their body doesn’t work 100% of the time.

Left: Cherry (she/her)

A dear centaur who’s the owner of the Great Acorn Inn, has lived a long time and has seen several adventures in her lifetime. Has a broom called “force of nature” her ultimate weapon

Right: Leap (he/him)

A frog dragon hybrid created by a chaotic god. Living their best life in a pond somewhere.

Left: TE.LE (they/it)

A robot? Human? A TV head fella who’s been going through the horrors of trying to get Dr. Verve arrested and/or murdered. Is not having a good time

Right: Star (they/them)

A being of dreams and desires. Fulfills people wishes and often visits them in their dreams. (Can create hot cocoas out of thin air.) probably the OC I would want to have as a roomate

Left: Crab.[he/him] (Yes that his name)

A dragon born that was given a crab claw and other features by a chaotic entity. The 4th member of the adventuring party and is a feral cat. They are creature and was found in a dumpster.

Right: Hyou (she/they)

Hey that’s me! Or well my persona online. She is me and I am her. We are one.

Left: Birch (they/them)

The god of the Fall. Once mortal but ascended to godhood 1000 years ago. They see the world through the eyes of birch trees. Always observing, almost never intervening

Right: K’lumb (he/him)

A Dnd for a small campaign. An absolute idiot, but somehow made a mechanical killer owl robot. Literally his Tavern is called “k’lumb’s krumpy kavern” does not know it’s spelled incorrectly

Winter : (he/him)

The god of well Winter. The oldest god. A stern who’s hid themselves in the mountains. Their followers is always about toughing things out, keeping things together

So yeah.

[artofmissdemeanor]

Saw @respectissexy making fan castings for both the rat grinders and bar parents and I probably would add the fantasy high teachers because a abott elementary type season would be so funny.

Let’s start with the rat grinders though.

Kipperlilly Coperkettle

I agree that Aabria Iyengar is the only right choice here… i’d love to see her to play what is basically an even meaner Suvi.

Ruben Hobclapp

Look hear me out: Sam Riegel as Ruben. It be so funny, also Sam would be a bard again which is just good for nature and he always has great chemistry with Aabria.

Mary Ann Skuttle

Though one for me but I think I will go with Jasmine Bhullar over Rekha Shankar on this one. Jasmine is already so good with just little creatures in coffin run. Also I’d love to see her as a player. Also I think she can play her respectfully and still really fucking funny.

Oisin Hakinvar

Ross Bryant! I was between Iffy, Hank Green and Ross on this one but I believe Ross is the Choice! I just want him in the dome. Also he gives secretly buff nerd vibes.

Ivy Embra

Ai👏mee👏Car👏rero👏 She plays magnificent bitches so well please. Also great chemistry with Aabria she deserves to be chaotic with Aimee for once instead of getting her shit wrecked by her.

Lucy Frostblade

Persephone Valentine. Again another player with great chemistry with Aabria but also she already broke my heart as Sam Nightingale, I’d allow her to do it a second time as Lucy. Also the looks she would serve. Lucy deserves the glow up she is my favorite of the rat grinders after all.

Buddy Dawn

I’d rather would like to have campaign with my girl Lucy but if need id need Damian Haas to make Bobby acceptable to me.

[theladydame]

TEA FOR MY D&D PARTY:

One person... one person mentioned drinking tea, so naturally I had to go into tea witch mode and find just the right tea for everyone in the party. I may not be able to get character art for any of my party, but I sure as heck can pick their tea options. And naturally, they're all from my most favorite Tea Witch shop, Friday Afternoon!

Laucian: High elf divination wizard, loves books and research. Her tea would include rose and citrus, and is caffeinated.

Introducing: The Clockmaker! "If you love to solve puzzles while you sip, this cozy cuppa is just the right fit for you!"

Kathvan: Dwarven Battle Master fighter, former mercenary, grew up in the mountains and brews their own beer. Likes it simple and earthy.

Introducing: Lao Cha Tuo Shou Puer! "forms naturally under the intense heat and pressure of the Shou Puer fermentation pile"

Archera: Tiefling Beastmaster ranger/rogue. Lion companion, "grew up in a forest" according to her. Tea should taste like dirt.

Introducing: Tree-Herder! Tastes less like dirt and more like hiking in the PNW when it's a little drizzly, but the vibe is right.

Sylfina: High elf Glamour bard/ Fae warlock. She's our pretty pretty princess. Jasmine, with light spice requested.

Introducing: Untamed! "Chaotic flowerstorm with bitter center, sharp-tongued and sparkly-eyed."

Belieze: Tiefling Grave cleric/Stars druid. The witchy big sister who hides her trauma by taking care of other people (yes this is mine).

Introducing: Grey Wanderer! "Just the right amount of warmth and body to carry you through your wonderful tales..."

Fola: High elven Shadow Sorceror/Warlock? She's trying to take down the gods. We hate her. She's cool and terrible, and has excellent taste. If you couldn't tell, this is one of the DM's baddies.

Introducing: IX: For the Tomb! "Dark and layered, precisely crafted with intention and intended for a different destiny."

[chimerabg3]

BG3 DISNEY PRINCESS POLL CONCLUSION!!!

Snow White - human - Druid/Circle of the Land - Wyll - tav - Noble

Cinderella - Human - Warlock/The Archfey - Wyll - tav - Urchin

Aurora - Human - Druid/Circle of the Stars - Wyll - tav - Noble

Ariel - Dragonborn/Red - Bard/College of Glamour - Wyll - durge

Belle - human - Wizard/Enchantment - Halsin - tav - Sage

Jasmine - human - Ranger/Beast Master - Wyll - tav - Noble

Pocahontas - elf/Wood elf - Druid/Circle of the Land - Halsin - tav - Outlander

Mulan - Dragonborn/Red - Fighter/Battle Master - Wyll - tav - Soldier

Tiana - Human - Sorcerer/Wild Magic - Wyll - tav - Guild Artisan

Rapunzel - Half-elf/High half-elf - Bard/College of Glamour - Astarion - tav - Noble

Merida - Elf/Wood Elf - Ranger/Beast Master - Nobody - durge

Moana - Human - Ranger/Beast Master - Nobody - tav - Folk Hero

Raya - Dragonborn/Blue - Fighter/Champion - Karlach - tav - Folk Hero

Its no surprise that the most picked romance option was Wyll he is after all the most princely of the bunch!!!

Would Wyll be Duke or Blade of avernus??? Probably blade?

Astarion did surprise me though... definitely spawn path for him, I REALLY doubt Rapunzel in any universe being okay with sacrificing 7000 souls.

ALSO! Someone Mentioned Rapunzel being a Cleric of a sun god Multi-classed with bard and I think that's a fantastic idea!!!

How do y'all feel about the results?

[grdnwood]

ᰋ𓈒 ֶָ 𝑤𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑜𝑠𝒕𝒗  ⁝         charithra chandran,  28,  cis-female,  she/her.    announcing  the  arrival  of  AAROHI  of  house  MORAQOS,  the  LADY  of  MYR.  whispers  among  the  court  name  them  to  be  both  THOUGHTFUL  and  INDECISIVE  in  disposition,  and  those  closest  to  them  speak  to  their  interests  in  gardening and singing.  if  we  bards  could  compose  a  song  for  them,  it  might  tell  stories  of  soft hands massaging tension from the toughest of skin, the sounds of laughter and song along the ocean waves, and curious eyes watching you across the room.  the  seven  whisper  to  their  most  devout  queen  as  she  sleeps,  making  her  question  where  their  loyalties  truly  lie.  are  they  right  to  whisper?  for  their  thoughts  have  lingered  close  to  treasonous  of  late. 

 statistics… 

# basic information.

official  name:  aarohi moraqos.  nicknames:  songbird.  noble  title:  lady of myr.  date  of  birth:  march 18.  age:  28.  birthplace:  myr.  home:  myr.  nationality:  essosi.  gender:  cis-female.  pronouns:  she/her.  orientation:  heterosexual.  monikers:  tbd.  languages:  common tongue. trade language. some essosi dialects accent:  honeyed myrian accent. 

# physical information.

faceclaim:  charithra chandran.  ethnicity:  rhoynar.  hair:  black.  eyes:  brown.  height:  5’4”.  build:  slim.  scent: sugared mint and jasmine. dominant  hand:  right.  allergies:  none.  scars:  a small scar above her right knee from where she fell as a child.  distinguishing  features:  soft brown eyes with long lashes.  clothing  style:  flowy essosi fashion favoring purples, blues, pinks, and reds. adorned in gold jewelry. not afraid to show skin.

# personality.

label:   the dutiful child. the ebullient.   mbti:   enfp.   enneagram:   7w6 the entertainer.   element:   water.   star   sign:   pieces.   temperament:   sanguine.   character   inspirations:   sansa stark - game of thrones. peeta mallark - the hunger games. daphne blake - scooby doo.   deadly   sin:   envy.   heavenly   virtue:   charity.   godly   parent:   hestia.

# drives.

hobbies:  gardening. swimming. singing. sunbathing. religion: r’hllor.  alliance:  house moraqos. interests of essos.  personal goals:  the strengthening of her family’s position. starting a family and living a relatively peaceful life. would they choose family or power?  family.

# familial ties.

father:  grand prince daario moraqos.  relationship:  tba.  mother:  grand princess taena moraqos. relationship:  mother.  spouse:  tbd. relationship:  tba.  sibling:  tbd. relationship:  tba. 

  narrative...

my lady my lady the people sing. they sing praises of her commitment to her family, but also to herself. her desires have more or less aligned with her family’s until now. as the tensions rise in essos she has been tasked with helping her father forge deals and alliance to secure her brother’s position. her loyalty to family remains, but she wonders how far will her father go for his first born. would her promise her to one who is unkind and cruel? only time will tell.

my lady my lady the people call out. sometimes you find her at court watching and learning from the people around her. absorbing the information and manner as it freely flows from mouths of allies and enemies alike. other times you’ll find her alone in the gardens picking the juiciest fruit and fairest of flowers to send as gifts for her closest friends. of course if the weather is fair you may find her swimming in cool pools of water surrounded by laughter and song. 

my lady my lady the people whisper. rumors are swirling around her but which is true? is she here to escape the war in essos and enjoy the comforts westeros has to offer? perhaps she's here to foster new alliances during the political turmoil? or maybe she here to sway the decision of who her future betrothed shall be? only the closest to her would know.

# wanted  connections.

the confidant:   someone who's been at her side since her arrival in westeros. they are teaching her the ways of the court and helping her make connections. interested in all kinds of dynamics for this connection whether they have the best intentions or not. 0/1

her inner circle: a group of noblewomen she is often seen with in her spare time. open to different dynamics and plots. 0/5

her betrothed: her father plans to marry her off for political gain. hopefully she can have some sway in his decision. 0/1

[hozaloza]

SBG AU THING I MADE AT RANDOM

Y'all know TOH? Well how about SBG x TOH in a way.

Character roles in some manner...: Ashlyn- A titan (Was gonna make her like the Collector bc of the reason why i came up with this AU, but I realized it would be cooler for her to be a titan)

Aiden- In the construction (He would destroy stuff with this power), Abomination, and Potion tracks (he would do multiple for sure)((Well, he also may be like Hooty)) Taylor- Construction and Beast keeping (Mechanic, idk why for Beast Keeping, she just kinda gives off that vibe) Tyler- Bard track, and be on the Grudgby team.

Logan- Plant, and in Potions tracks

Ben- Bard and Healing tracks

Parents are still in human world, they don't know their kids are being sent to the Boiling Isles every night.

Basically, every night at 12, the kids are sent to the Boiling Isles, and they are just trying to strive in this strange dimension as they try to figure out why they are going here. While so, they end up going to hexside, and learn to do magic. Ashlyn, however, is discovering strange stuff about herself, her abilities are more stronger than the rest.

At some point, the Origami Cranes (Who are Titans in this basically..?) will track them down, because Mr. Thomas noticed Ashlyn's shadow (which looked like a titan). As the kids get better at their abilities (and as Ashlyn starts questioning herself and these strange abilities), the Cranes (or should I say... titans? Haha. Yeah I'll be here all night y'all) will be preparing to capture the kids to bring them into the facility.

Crane roles: Jasmine- Titan

Ryan- Titan

Thomas- Titan

Yeah they're all practically titans. Presumingly, if they end up not being connected to the rift in some strange way as well, then IG titan trappers?? Idk I'm sticking w/ the titan stuff.

~~~~~~

So, basic idea-

Mr. Thomas comes to the school as a new teacher, he says they'll go on a trip to Savannah. Kids go to Sorrel-Weed house (meets Jasmine). A titan spirit drags them into the Boiling Isles rift. Now at night, they go there for a good 12 hours. Meet TOH gang. Discover secrets. Near s2 ending, Ashlyn discovers she's a titan bc of King. Parents get involed. Same old but with magic. *Gets kidnapped* Boss- "Hey! Welcome to your new home!" Ashlyn- "Bro what the fuck where am I-" Maverick- "My name is Maverick, and I'm The Collector." Ashlyn- "Wait what-"

Yup, Maverick will be like the Collector. That dude who I assume is the big boss will be an Archivist.

Idk what else to write, maybe I'll explain more idk.

[xpolarisx]

Timeline: Mid February, 2025 Notes: In which Polaris completes a contract and rejoins the Thieves Guild Word Count: 1510

There might never come a day when Polaris could walk familiar streets without seeing the bones that waited beneath. Lôrien'dal, a city built upon the remnants of the Cataclysm, carried echoes of its past beneath every cobblestone. Yet, the Hare’s directive had been clear. A decade ago, the dragon might’ve hesitated. But after ingratiating himself into the elvhen court, he welcomed the chance to sharpen skills dulled by neglect. Polaris would spread his metaphorical wings, sharpen his claws, and prepare to take flight once more. 

Polaris moved through the city with the grace of a shadow woven into its tapestry. The air carried the sweet scent of night-blooming jasmine, mingling with the distant whispers of fountains and the hum of twilight conversations. The master bard could, at any time, be as noticeable or as inconspicuous as he desired. Unfortunately mastery didn’t come with the symptoms of fame and even when Polaris moved silently there was every risk of detection lurking around the corner. Nobles of the Silverlands did what they did best: talk. Polaris played his part well, charm and wit drawing them closer as he steered conversations toward recent arrivals and whispered dealings.

Lord Eolande’s estate towered above the city, its spires brushing the sky. Within, vaulted ceilings arched over walls adorned with tapestries depicting ancient heroes, while a harpist’s silver melody threaded through the air. Accepting a goblet of wine from a passing servant, Polaris surveyed the room with casual ease, eyes flicking from one cluster of nobles to another. His smile masked the flicker of tension within - a reminder of the stakes should he fail. At every turn, the Great Game was at play, but Polaris introduced another set of rules. He wouldn’t trade blows at the top of the stairs, or snatch at someone’s hand when they reached for concealed secrets. No, he would smile, entertain, and do what came naturally to the bard - gather intel. 

It was Lady Lyria who offered the first thread worth pulling. Her smile hinted at mischief as she leaned close, voice dipped in conspiratorial whisper as she spoke of a merchant who frequented the quarter, one with a key of a most unusual make. It was Lady Lyria’s assumption that the goods the merchant peddled were ill gotten, but Polaris could only press, good-naturedly, how might such a possession come into unwitting hands?

Polaris thanked her with a smile that promised secrets of its own. Yet, as she departed, a trace of unease lingered in his chest. Trust was a currency he could ill afford but his mask was convicted and irrefutable, while she remained every bit the gossip he remembered. Naturally, there was an invitation to follow her between the sheets but with work at hand and someone waiting for him back in Eterna, Polaris abstained. 

The days that followed were a dance of shadows and patience. The market’s clamor of spices, silk, and whispered deals became his stage. His gaze lingered on the fountain’s shifting reflections - stone carved with scenes from the city’s past. When the merchant appeared, Polaris followed. He learned the cadence of the man's life: dawn visits to the market where fingers traced rare silks and eyes scanned ancient scrolls, afternoons spent in half-empty taverns whose shadows clung like old secrets, and nights at a secluded inn on the outskirts where murmured conversations danced beneath candlelight.

Patience became Polaris’s closest ally. Rain soaked through his cloak as he waited in alleyways veiled in half-light. Steps softened against cobblestone as he followed from rooftops where lanterns flickered like distant stars. More than once, the merchant glanced over his shoulder as if sensing unseen eyes, but Polaris had honed invisibility into an art long before this city’s stones were laid. Each heartbeat marked a step in the slow, deliberate waltz of predator and prey.

Yet, beneath the rhythm of his pursuit, old memories stirred. Centuries of service whispered in the corners of his mind - the faces of kings and courtiers, debts sealed in blood, and alliances forged in shadow. He had worn a thousand masks, each tethered to another’s will. And yet, each step through Lôrien'dal’s labyrinthine streets stirred something unfamiliar - a longing not for freedom, but for a purpose shaped by his own hand.

On the fifth night, Polaris found the merchant alone, seated at a corner table in the tavern near the city’s western gates. Lamplight glinted off a silver key that hung from a chain at the man’s belt - a key that Polaris knew held the final thread to his quarry. Rain whispered against the window as Polaris settled into the shadows, his gaze never leaving the merchant’s hands as they traced the worn edges of a leather-bound ledger. The air between them hummed with unspoken tension, a silent acknowledgment that the chase was nearing its end.

A night of rain veiled Polaris's approach as he trailed the merchant through the city’s labyrinthine alleys. Stone lanterns cast pools of golden light, their reflections shimmering in rain-slicked cobblestones. When the merchant paused at a secluded doorway, Polaris melted into shadow. His heart beat steady, his breath slow as the man disappeared within. Minutes later, Polaris stepped forward, fingers tracing the faint emblem etched into the door’s frame - a sigil of the Hare’s network. The game was nearing its end.

Lord Eolande’s grand event arrived with a hush of anticipation. Candlelight glimmered against silk and silver, and the air thrummed with whispered schemes. Polaris, dressed in midnight velvet, took to the stage with his lute, recently polishing the rust until his instrument. Fingers spun melodies of longing and moonlight, holding the crowd rapt. At the back of the room, the merchant lingered - eyes sharp despite the wine in his hand, fingers brushing the key at his belt with a reflex born of habit.

Polaris moved through the crowd as if carried by the music’s spell. Each step measured, each glance calculated. Passing the merchant, his hand brushed fabric for the barest instant - swift and unseen.

The key was cool against his palm.

No cry of alarm followed. No eyes turned as Polaris vanished into the sea of silk and candlelight. At the room’s edge, Lady Elowen watched him - a cascade of silk and jewels carved from moonlight and ambition. Polaris slipped the key into a place she would find it, along with a note bearing the Hare’s regards and a flourish of his own: For the pleasure of your company.

As the final notes of the evening faded, Polaris bowed to the gathered nobility, their applause rising like the hum of distant wings. This revelry came easy to him, it was a simple dance carved between himself and the mindless masses that flit about. It wasn’t as if Polaris held any contempt for them, but the dragon was in a constant contest between what he was, what the Aetherians had tried to make him, and what he might yet make of this age. The lines of laughter could be traid, circulating the bard’s atmosphere before Polaris faded away, seamlessly. When the last echoes faded into murmurs, he was gone - vanishing into Lôrien'dal’s night, his task complete.

Beyond the estate walls, the city stretched beneath a canopy of stars. Polaris moved through narrow streets where lanterns swayed on iron hooks, their golden glow painting shifting patterns across stone. Yet, as he paused beneath the arch of an ancient bridge, another thought stirred - one that whispered of choices unmade and paths unseen.

Laughter followed. A sharp bark that echoed off the cold, wet stones of the archway. He’d done it - beautifully - in fact. Without a witness and with nothing more than a pair of elvhen hands. For the dragon, this should have been a meager accomplishment when the trials of the Eluvian still hung behind him. But he felt alive and in control for the first time in an age. Not an Aetherian puppet, or a creature clinging to a veneer that he couldn’t hold, instead someone finally taking steps to regaining his autonomy. 

Too many years Polaris had been carved into just one shape, but he’d come to learn that this caste that he’d been put into could be broken. The chains the Aetherians bound him with still left their mark in the form of scars that would never heal, but the dragon would never be that prisoner again. He was unbound and unchained and beholden to nobody’s whims but his own. Polaris had felt it in the wind and heard it in the breeze, drifting from the lips of adventurers and peddlers alike: the age of the dragons had come. 

His path led beyond Lôrien'dal, but Polaris lingered in its depths a moment longer. Beneath ancient arches and starlit eaves, a shadow within a world of whispers, he wondered if the day might come when he would walk these streets free of ghosts. For now, the night embraced him as one of its own, and he vanished into its depths once more:

Mission complete.