#aravel the wizard

[morrigan-sims]

murder vs cinnamon roll alignment chart - d&d oc edition

Thanks to @adelarsims for posting this template and inspiring me to make this!!

(Rook and Val are on here twice because which is which depends on the day, for them, I think.)

Guide to who's who under the cut.

(Left -> Right, Top -> Bottom)

Top Left

Aspen Vale (they/them) changeling/half-elf college of glamour bard + archfey warlock

Elira Aravelle Duskstep (she/her) high elf abjuration wizard

Satora Amaris (she/her) eladrin bladesinger

Top Right

Kyron "Val" Valris (they/them) tiefling hexblade warlock

Rook (he/him) half-elf swashbuckler rogue

Alarion Castien Varro (he/him) half-drow gloomstalker ranger

Bottom Left

Zenara "Zen" Raventhorn (they/them) tiefling fiend warlock

Val

Rook

Bottom Right

Avra Shadowbreath (she/her) shadar-kai/reborn phantom rogue + gloomstalker ranger

Cyra (she/they) fire genasi storm herald barbarian (+ champion fighter)

Odynia Adrasteia Erinys (she/her) aasimar vengeance paladin

Morana Novak (she/her) fetchling curse witch

Not Pictured (but would be bottom right)

Luca James Keeley (she/her) shifter lycanthrope bloodhunter

Laverna Rosefist (she/they) tiefling thief rogue

Asola Riava Ashmark (she/her) aasimar vengeance paladin

Asra Dain (she/they) human champion fighter

Not Pictured (due to uncertain placement)

Havoc (they/them) tiefling swords bard

[leapyearkisses]

And OMG, They Were Rollmates (m/m) - Oneshot

A D&D-inspired ficlet about an elf wizard and a human ranger sharing a bedroll, and also they fuck. And there are some feelings because I’m incapable of writing porn without them.

NSFW, MESS, sneezing on people

---

Ingvar poked a stick between the smoldering logs he'd stacked in the firepit, but stabbing the coals did nothing to make the fire any bigger or warmer. The wood was just too wet, even this deep into the forest. The thick canopy couldn't protect against the north's seasonal storms. It was just poor luck that he and Aravel had to travel this way at this time of year. It was going to be another cold night. He sneaked a look at his travelling companion, who was setting up their tent.  Aravel blended uncannily into the scenery here. Maybe it wasn't surprising, him being a wood elf. His skin was the fine, rich red-brown of cherry wood. His hair was a greeny bronze that mimicked the hanging moss of his home forest. Even his eyes were camouflage, golden and catlike. In the dark, they reflected the firelight like those of a mountain lion, and Ingvar had been spooked more than once. Combine all that with Aravel's leaf-like, layered robes, and it was hard to pick him out at twenty paces. Ingvar had been trained as a ranger since he could walk, and he was jealous of Aravel's natural, inborn ease among all things wooded. "Almost ready?" Ingvar asked after another minute. Their tent was small, only big enough for two people and a dog. They'd unfortunately lost Ingvar's hunting hound in a landslide a few days ago, along with Aravel's pack, so it was going to be colder than he liked inside. "We only have the one bedroll," Aravel said, stepping back from his work. He was still limping, but there wasn't much they could do about that. 

Ingvar rubbed his own aching elbow. "Well, we'll just have to make do. Come over and let's eat." He produced some wolf jerky from his pouch and shared it out when Aravel came to sit beside him. "How are you feeling?" It wasn't just the landslide that prompted the question. For the last few hours, he'd noticed Aravel slowing down, stumbling occasionally, even sneezing once or twice. Really, it was just their luck. The elf shrugged. "I'm falling ill," he replied wearily. "We should have made camp in Boarstead." He rubbed his slim hands together and held them over the sad excuse for a fire. "We didn't know it was going to be so difficult to cross the pass," Ingvar pointed out. "And you didn't know you would take sick. Did you?" "No," Aravel was quick to say. "No, I would have told you." Hiding such things on the road could lead to mistakes, sometimes fatal ones. "Then it was all inevitable," said Ingvar. He started to rub Aravel's back. "We can share the bedroll. I don't want you to get any worse." "I think hih- that's inevitable as well," Aravel mumbled, leaning into the touch. He tucked his face into his elbow. "Hpptsch! Hh- hh- hh- hh-- haptschiu!" Ingvar chuckled. "Didn't think you'd get that one out, there." "Be silent," said Aravel, primly, before sneezing again. It wasn't quite dark yet when they turned in, but night fell extremely quickly in the forest and it was best to be tucked in and completely settled before losing the light. They washed up as best they could with a few handfuls of water, packed the remaining bag tightly and hung it from a tree, and tried to stoke the fire as much as possible. Ingvar pissed in a circle around their camp to keep away curious animals, a practice he was not able to get Aravel to join in on. Then they entered the tent. The bedroll was narrow but also a necessity. "You first," said Aravel. "You're bigger. I can fit in afterward." So Ingvar climbed inside. He was tall but leanly muscled. He didn't think this whole endeavor would work if he was packing slabs like the warriors they often passed in town, huge beefy fellows who hired themselves out to defend homesteads or hunt bandits. They all seemed to have the same hairstyle, too, a tail at the neck. Seemed to Ingvar like a good place for an opponent to grab you and slit your throat. He wore his own black hair short when he was on the road. Just more practical. 

Once he was settled, he held open the fabric for Aravel. "We'll go back to back," said the elf, and attempted such, but they soon found that the bedroll wasn't wide enough for their knees to point in opposite directions. Normally, Ingvar would have offered to spoon his smaller companion - had done so many times when travelling with various folk - but Aravel actually kept his own mossy hair quite long, and after about three minutes of blowing hair out of his mouth, Ingvar nixed that plan. Aravel had to get out again, then back in, carefully sliding in behind Ingvar, and that seemed to do the trick. It was so tight that Ingvar could feel Aravel's lips on the back of his neck, and the elf had had to tuck his arms around Ingvar's torso. At least the exertion of struggling in and out would keep them warm for now. Ingvar didn't think they would be moving again until daybreak. "Comfortable?" he asked, pointlessly. Aravel's breath was warm on his skin. "More or less," Aravel murmured back. "Good enough, anyway..." And then his breath fluttered uncertainly. "Ingvar..." "Yes? Hey, you can't-" Aravel had started wriggling against him, trying to extract an arm that was wound under Ingvar's own. It made his elbow hurt again and he gritted his teeth. "What is it?? We don't really have a lot of room, here!" "I know, I'm sorry, but I hh have to sneeze! Hah-" Aravel kept tugging, but he'd only managed to jostle them; his arm was still stuck down inside the bedroll when he was overcome. "Haptschiu!" His nose bumped against Ingvar's neck, which was suddenly moist from the spray. Ingvar shivered a little from the sensation, partially from discomfort. "...Bless you." Aravel's skin heated. "I'm so sorry," he said. "Honestly. I'll try not to sneeze." He extricated his arm carefully, finally, so he could rub his nose and dry Ingvar's neck with his sleeve. When he was done, though, there was nowhere for him to put it but back into the bedroll. It hurt Ingvar's back if Aravel tucked his arm anywhere but where it had been before, settled on his hip and chest. It quickly became clear to them both that Aravel struggling to cover every time he felt a tickle was just impractical. It was tiring, painfully jostling, and most of the time not even fast enough to make a difference. Finally, Ingvar just folded his hand over Aravel's. "It's okay," he said. "It's okay. Try to get some sleep. I'll wash up in the morning and we'll forget about it." Aravel's hand was soft and trembling lightly. Ingvar gave it a squeeze. "....If you say so." The elf was clearly reluctant, but he already sounded half asleep. "Sorry." "Shh." Ingvar settled, closing his eyes. He was tired after a long day of travel, and whether their arrangement was for better or worse, he was warm. It was quiet outside. The trees were full of the sounds of night, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. He could rest. Or, well. He did want to. But even mostly asleep, Aravel was still unfortunately stricken with illness, and his breathing fluttered with every small itch. He made soft, irritated sounds. He hitched, sometimes for quite some time, before subsiding. Or before working himself up to sneeze again. "Ah... hih... ih- hih-" Ingvar rubbed his thumb over Aravel's knuckles. "Hah-- Haptsch! Apttschih!" Aravel trembled and moaned softly. He pressed his nose to Ingvar's neck, seeking some sleeping aid for the torturous irritation. Maybe every few minutes, then maybe longer, Ingvar felt a gentle, wet burst against the back of his neck. It was an experience unlike any he'd had before in his life, and he had trouble categorizing it into "good" or "bad." Finally, it seemed as though exhaustion won out, and Aravel subsided into a deeper sleep, sniffling but blissfully still. Ingvar tried to match him, and soon enough he also fell asleep. In the predawn, maybe close to 4 AM, Ingvar woke. Some sound had woken him, triggering his honed ranger instincts. A soft sound, quivering in the darkness. Aravel, he realized after a moment. He could feel the elf's chest rising against his back. Aravel was awake, he thought, and it was confirmed when he felt the elf curl his fingers tightly in the fabric of Ingvar's jerkin. "No," Aravel whispered, obviously self-directed. He groaned lightly and Ingvar heard his breath catch sharply in the dark. "Huah-- Aa" He was clearly going to sneeze again - maybe this is what had woken him to begin with - and it sounded itchy and urgent. "Aa- AA- Apptschh! Happtschuh!" Aravel's body was tense behind his, and his nose and lips were crushed to Ingvar's skin when he sneezed. He felt the rush of air, light spray, and a sudden hot wetness against his neck. Aravel coughed lightly and sniffed hard, the sound thick. Aa. Well, he probably wasn't feeling much better then. Ingvar wondered if he should move, say something... but Aravel had started up again. "Hah- hhah- hahktschiu! Ohh... Aa- Haksh! Hh-Hngksch! Ahkttschxgh!"  There was another rush of mess, pooling at his neck. Ingvar supposed he should have been revolted or something, but his brain was currently fixated on a different feeling entirely. Aravel was pressed all along his back, tightly, and he could feel the hard line of the elf's cock against his backside. Now, this was an inevitability, and something he'd experienced with other companions as well, part of the drill. But he'd rarely traveled with anyone whose sleeping interest spurred him to offer reciprocation. Aravel was sick, but that didn't really hamper Ingvar's steady interest, which had been growing since they started travelling together three months ago. And he didn't enjoy the frustrated noises Aravel was making as he wrestled with his wet nose. Ingvar squeezed Aravel's hand. "Hey," he said softly. "I'm sorry," mumbled the elf. His fingers twitched in Ingvar's grasp. "I know. It's okay. Let's come out of the bedroll for a minute." Aravel agreed, and the two of them managed to wriggle out. It was somewhat more difficult with limbs heavy from sleep, but soon both were seated in the very small tent. The air outside of the bedroll was starkly cold, and without thinking about it, Ingvar wrapped his arms around Aravel and pulled the smaller man to straddle his lap. "Wh-" "How do you feel? Can I do this?" Ingvar put one arm around Aravel's lower back to keep him steady. He rested his other hand on the elf's hip. "You tell me to stop if you want to stop." Aravel looked tired and somewhat uncertain in the dark. His upper lip and chin were shiny with mess before he abruptly buried his face in his elbow. "It's hahh fine. I... I'm fine with it." Maybe he would have been blushing, but he ducked further into his sleeve. "Huahh-- Hapkstcxh!!" His whole body rocked with it, and he was still hard. Ingvar could feel the press of Aravel's member against his own. "Bless you," he said, and kissed the elf's hair. "Are you warm enough?" "Hnngh... I'm not cold." "Is it okay if I touch?" "It's- hh hh hih- Hhokay. Aptschiu!!" Again, Aravel rocked.  Ingvar kissed him again and then moved his hand from Aravel's hip to between them. He slipped his hand under the elf's robes, finding velvety bare skin awaiting him. Aravel's cock fit in his palm and he closed his fingers around it gently, skin slipping on the beginning of wetness there. "Okay?" Aravel nodded. His cat eyes had gone half-lidded and he was biting his lip. "I might sneeze on you," he said, breathless. Ingvar laughed. "Tell me something I don't know." He rested his forehead against Aravel's. "You're paying for me to have a niiiice, long bath at the next inn we get to." That earned a wry smile. "I'd love to... but my wallet went over the cliff with my bag, remember?" Ingvar squeezed Aravel's cock, earning him a pleased moan. "That's right, isn't it. Then you can make it up to me in a different way." He nuzzled Aravel's hairline. "Can I kiss you?" "Yes, kiss me." Aravel sighed into his mouth, thighs trembling as Ingvar started to stroke him up and down. The elf tasted sweet and salty. Ingvar wondered for a moment if that's what his cock would taste like as well, but there would be time to find out later. Right now, he wanted to bring them both to pleasure before they got too cold to want it. Aravel curled against him as he worked, tucking his face into his sleeve still, catching and guarding against his frequent sniffles and sneezes. Ingvar ran a thumb over Aravel's tip and was rewarded with the sweetest moan. He teased again. "M' going to bite you," gasped Aravel, taking Ingvar's shoulders in both hands. "Please, please." "Easy, sweet one." Ingvar tightened his grip. "Ready?" He knew the elf was close, could feel it in the way he kept tensing his thighs against Ingvar's own. "Yes," Aravel half-sighed, nails just this side of painful in Ingvar's back. "Now, please." They kissed again, and Ingvar worked his hand over Aravel until the smaller man could do nothing but cling and gasp, shaking, as he came explosively over Ingvar's hand and lap. Ingvar followed soon after, although his release was trapped by his breeches. Not ideal, but he could hardly think of that with Aravel still pressed to him, chest heaving, warm and pliant. And sneezy still. "Happtsch! Akptsch! hah- HAH- HUAH-KTSCGH!!" Ingvar laughed and started to rub Aravel's back again, holding him close. "Bless you." Now the front of his neck was messy, too, but the aftershocks of his orgasm relaxed him and he found he didn't care at the moment. "How do you feel?" Aravel sniffled thickly, not moving from where he was leaning against Ingvar. "Tired. Good, but... mnn." "Let's go back to sleep. Hopefully your nose won't bother you too much now. Sounds like you must have got it out, whatever was bothering you." "I don't think that's how it works with a cold," Aravel replied, voice already muzzy.  Ingvar settled him again against his back in the bedroll. "I'll wake you in the morning to strike camp," he said, taking Aravel's hand again in his. "Sleep well." And at least the rest of the night went well. Aravel did sleep soundly until day broke and they had to move on. His sneezing failed to abate in the daytime, however, and when he began to stumble with fever, Ingvar picked him up to carry on his back, strapping their pack to his front. He'd not been expecting to have to deal with it again, but rather than distaste, Aravel's continued sneezing on his neck now made him feel something quite different. He hurried on through the forest to get them both out of the chill and into a nice, warm bed.

[npc-catalogue]

Aravel

An enthusiastic ruin explorer who isn’t much of a fighter, but knows a lot about the surrounding area

Purpose: introducing your players to the world and its history, explaining lore, pointing out interesting ruins to explore, inspecting magic items (in exchange for a favor), giving a dungeon-crawl sidequest

Can be found:

intensely studying a hand-drawn map and some books at any inn, tavern or library

resting somewhere along the road (near a ruin), [if you want to add some spice: desperately trying to fight off some wild animal].

General Details: male elf, neutral, ~300 years old, wizard (lvl 3 at most), sage background

Appearance: tall and lanky; short brown unkempt hair; frameless glasses sitting very low on the nose, grey robe with a leather belt around the waist; a notebook and a small pouch attached to the belt; a backpack stuffed so full that some paper scrolls are poking out; closer inspection reveals: scratches on his hands, a barely noticeable hole in the fabcric around the knees (because of a ruin he had to escape from recently)

Personality: Aravel talks very fast, but doesn’t stutter; when asked about something related to history, he may go on an enthusiastic tangent; he is not interested in money, so he can’t be bribed easily; he gesticulates wildly while talking; Aravel is fascinated by the world and its history and has devoted his life to studying it; he doesn’t care much about politics and has no strong opinions.

Quest: If the Party approaches Aravel, he quickly recognizes that they may be Adventurers and shifts the conversation to a favor he needs: There is an old elven ruin nearby that he needs to map out and study. He assumes it was built to protect whoever was inside it, with mechanisms to keep outsiders (based on the historical context, orcs) away. The layout is important for his research on ancient architecture so he wants the adventurers to go inside the ruin, draw a map of it and scribble down any interesting details they may come across. Aravel provides the supplies for mapmaking. He had been to the ruin a while back so a small portion is already filled out. He had to flee because some dangerous monsters have made the dungeon their home. When asked about a reward, he frantically rummages through his backback and pulls out some art objects (worth based on the difficulty of the quest) he is willing to part with. He collected them on his travels and has finished studying them.

[In my version, i will let the players draw the map themselves, based on my descriptions (with dimensions and everything), but running it this way should only be done if your players actually enjoy taking detailed notes.]

[destinyweb-rising]

made two more bios!

The Rogue Wolf Guz | The Dark Wizard Aravel

[thingsareswinging]

Orion Lavellan!

Full Name: Oryonn Lavellan, except he can’t spell it, so Josephine took her best guess and ‘Orion’ appeared on every official document since. He never actually noticed.

Gender and Sexuality: About the straightest character I have ever come up with.

Pronouns: He/him.

Ethnicity/Species: Dalish elf.

Birthplace and Birthdate: The back of an aravel, some time 9:15 Dragon.

Guilty Pleasures: Scaring the absolute piss out of idiot humans because he can.

Phobias: Spiders, the lingering terror that someone unsympathetic will see his handwriting.

What They Would Be Famous For: Um.

What They Would Get Arrested For: Anything that the Orlesians could get to stick.

OC You Ship Them With: Neither Calpernia nor Cassandra are OCs.

OC Most Likely To Murder Them: See above.

Favorite Movie/Book Genre: He used to read anything he could get his hands on, which was usually dull almanacs on crop rotations. Once promoted, he doesn’t have a lot of time to read for fun.

Least Favorite Movie/Book Cliche: He hates all these Orlesian novels where the Chevaliers save the day.

Talents and/or Powers: He’s a pretty passable wizard, an above-average hunter, and plays a mean fiddle.

Why Someone Might Love Them: Natural leader, got a deep voice and has a tendency to show up out of nowhere and turn your town upside down.

Why Someone Might Hate Them: Maybe if you liked your town the right way up.

How They Change: Gets meaner, tougher, a better actor, loses a hand, and gets a big red cape and a grappling hook. Ages about ten years over the course of six months.

Why You Love Them: He’s a lovely boy that does his best under the circumstances.

[verinne-mattwin]

"Well," said Halfrag, as the three traveled back towards the city gate, "it's late enough for supper."

"And late enough for me to want to stay out of the city."

Halfrag frowned. "Well, supper to go?"

"How long do you think you have?" Asked Minath.

"Another hour, could stretch it more but an hour is best."

"Could you stretch it earlier?" Asked Minath.

"I could, but neither of us want to."

"Us?"

"Wait." The Orange-Haired Wizard paused. Then she asked, confused, "what?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing."

"Min, is there anything important about that?"

"Yes and no. Let's get food."

"Very well."

"What?" Repeated Aravell.

"Food."

[mementotori]

Path of the Grey: Chapter 3

@mad-mod and @ineffablewitch

“Climbing trees like we did when we were children

Scaling walls; the walls that took us years to build”

9:16 Dragon

“No, no. It’s all wrong. You’re supposed to be the evil wizard who takes the princess.” Eshne put her hands on her hips, her gingery hair flying all about in the sweet breeze.

She stomped over to put the flower crown upon the head of a shorter girl with black hair, peppered with spots of white.

“But why is Melia the princess?” Tamlen frowned, crossing his arms.

“Because I said so.” Eshne put out her tongue.

“Lame…” Tamlen muttered to himself, the fake nose Eshne had attached to his face twitching every now and again.

Eshne put her arm around Melia, who was also frowning, “You’re supposed to be the halla princess, and halla princesses are happy.”

“This is trivial, Eshne.” Melia said, “Why do we have to do these games?”

“Because there’s more to life than aspiring to be a hunter.” Eshne rolled her violet eyes, “Now where is our halla?”

She looked around for Melia’s cousin Thackery. Not finding him, she looked to Merrill.

“You’re the stand in.”

“Me?” Merrill said sheepishly, “But I’m not a good halla, Eshne, I threw up last time.”

“You’ll be fine.” Eshne assured her, setting the halla horns she make from sticks on top of Merrill’s head, “Now go.”

Merrill pranced next to Melia, who was swatting away Tamlen for messing with the flowers on her crown.

“Go!” Eshne shouted, sitting in the grass to watch her friends.

Tamlen rolled his eyes and sighed, “Oh, come now, sweet halla princess, to my castle of doom.” He said in a monotone voice.

Melia blushed, flustered with her part, “I do not want to say my line.”

“Just do it.” Eshne urged her.

Melia felt sick, “You foul wizard, though your...loins may ache f...no no, Eshne, I already said it and it made Thackery pee his smallclothes.”

“We shouldn’t even know these words.” Merrill pointed out.

“You’ll be fine.” Eshne sighed, rubbing her eyes.

“Say loins again!” A voice called from the trees.

“Oh, Thackery!” Melia stomped her foot.

A slender boy, not 6-years-old landed on his feet after falling from his branch. His mop of black hair nearly covering his wide green eyes.

“But it’s so great when you say it!” Thackery ducked from Melia trying to hit him.

“I’ll have no fighting among the actors!” Eshne broke them apart.

A voice called above the squabble.

“Eshne!”

Tamlen and Thackery started laughing, “You’re in trouble, Esh.”

“Shut up.” Eshne waved them off, running back towards their camp.

She could see her mother, dark red hair held back in a braid, rubbing her pregnant belly. She stood with the Keeper. Marethari’s face turned grey when she saw Eshne burst through the trees.

Eshne’s mother bent down to kiss her daughter's forehead, then she asked.

“Da’len, can you show the keeper what you showed babae this morning?”

Eshne furrowed her brow, wondering why the Keeper would be interested in the lights that came from her fingers. Shrugging, Eshne held out her fingers, cracks of red and orange flowing through the creases in her palms. Bright embers burst up from her hand, Eshne smiled, thinking that she was something special.

Her expression changed when she saw the worry in the keepers face.

“Danyla,” She said, “I must speak to you and your husband in my aravel.” She turned away.

Eshne sat down in the grass, twirling it within her small fingers. Thackery came running over, sitting down next to her.

“What did your mamae want?”

Eshne shrugged, “She had me show Marethari the lights.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, Thackery.” Eshne fell into the grass.

Thackery thought for a moment, then he smiled, some of his teeth missing, “Mel would know, she’s smart!”

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Eshne said, “It’s probably because I’m awesome.”

“Don’t lie to yourself.” Thackery laughed, pushing slightly on Eshne’s knee.

The two sat quietly for a moment, Thackery perked up.

“Let’s go throw mud on Mel. She’s with the others by the river.”

Eshne thought for a moment, “Well I don’t know my mamae said-of course I’ll go.” Eshne got up and started running for the river.

The two of them came upon Tamlen and Fenarel swinging from the vines on the trees, falling into the river with a great splash. Melia sat on the banks, letting Merrill braid her hair.

Eshne and Thackery snuck into the bushes, waiting for Tamlen and Fenarel to climb out of the water. They rushed forward, clumps of warm mud in their small hands. They pelted Melia and Tamlen with mud, Merrill getting some on her face, and Fenarel just barely getting mud on his chest.

“Thackery!” Melia screamed.

Tamlen ran for Thackery, chasing him into the river. Eshne sat and laughed, watching Melia wash the mud off of her face and hair, grumbling to herself.

Melia looked up, watching Tamlen laugh and splash Thackery before he turned back for the banks.

“Thackery!” She called, “You are going too far. Mamae said not to go past the big rocks.”

Thackery rolled his eyes, “Stop being such a nag, M-”

Melia screamed, watching her cousin disappear under the water. Eshne stopped laughing, looking on in horror. She got up and ran as fast as she could to try and get someone, Merrill following behind her.

Melia jumped into the water, Tamlen trying to pull her back. She swam as fast as she could, taking a deep breath before submerging herself into the water, Tamlens cries drowned out as she searched for her cousin.

She saw a mess of black hair, Thackery was struggling to get his leg unstuck from between a few rocks, bubbles flying up from his mouth. Melia went over, trying to pull him free, her heart racing.

Thackery soon became heavier and heavier, Melia went into a panic, pulling as hard as she could.

Suddenly, she was pulled from the water, and Thackery with her. She felt Ashalle’s bear-like arms around her. They were pulled to the shore. The keeper stood with Hahren Paivel, waiting for Thackery. Marethari held her hand over Thackery’s mouth, pulling the water from his lungs with a wave of her hand.

When he spit up the water, Melia rushed to him, hugging him with all of her strength.

Ashalle wrapped them both up in her arms, kissing their foreheads.

“What were you two thinking?” Ashalle asked them, tears streaming down her face, “Dirthara-ma…”

The crowd finally settled and dispersed, Thackery went away from the river as soon as he could, never wanting to go back.

It was close to noon when the Keeper came to Athras and Danyla’s tent the next day. Eshne was listening to the baby in her mother’s stomach when the Keeper went to speak to her babae. He was incredibly angry, his red face matching his hair. He went over and kissed Eshne on the forehead.

He picked her up and held her close to him, she felt the heat from his red face as he spoke, his voice cracked and shaky, “Ir abelas, da’len.”

Eshne didn’t understand, her father repeating his words over and over. She saw her mother, pale faced, but stoic as they left the tent. She noticed tears coming from her large violet eyes.

“Mamae?” Eshne began, starting to cry out of confusion.

“Da’len,” Danyla looked at Eshne, “Emma ir abelas, Eshne.” She stroked the wavy red hair from her daughter’s freckled face, “You...you have to…” Her words were choked back.

Athras pulled away from his daughter, Eshne saw that his eyes were red from crying.

“We’re going to have to take you away, da’len.” His words were chilled.

Eshne’s heart quickened, she wanted to think they were all going, but somehow she knew it was only going to be her.

“Iras?” She asked her parents.

“Away, Eshne.” Danyla spoke quietly, “To a place where there’s other children like you.”

“Keeper is like me.”

“Oh, da’len, we know. But the keeper has already chosen her second. No other clan can take us in either.” Danyla hid her face.

Athras set Eshne back on the ground, standing up, his eyes spoke the intense anger he held inside.

“Da’len. Emm’asha. No matter what, your father and I will always love you.” She spoke softly, squeezing her daughter’s fingers between hers.

It didn’t take long for Eshne to gather her things. The Circle, so her mother called it, didn’t allow certain things, so all Eshne took was her favorite dress and her birthday deer, Asha, a patchwork brown fawn her mother had hand stitched.

The sun was almost gone from the sky when a group of men and women dressed in bright silver armor came to the camp.

Keeper Marethari spoke to them, Eshne didn’t want to hear what she said. The keeper was probably telling them how bad she had been, because the orange and pink lights came from her hands.

Eshne saw from the crowd of her clan that her friends were there, saying goodbye for the last time. She waved to them sadly, then looking away so she didn’t have to cry. She saw Tamlen, and Melia. Thackery, with his lip trembling, Ashalle holding onto him. Even Fenarel looked sad to see her leave. She saw Merrill. The one that took Eshne’s place as second. She wasn’t sure if she hated the girl just yet, she felt like she did, but wasn’t entirely sure.

Eshne took the hand of one of the men in armor, his kind eyes made her feel better, but not wholly.

She heard someone running to her.

“Don’t go Eshne!” Melia hugged her from behind, her wild black and white hair whipping Eshne’s face.

Ashalle ran over to bring Melia away from the Templars, glaring at them as she did. Melia stretched out her hands for Eshne, tears falling down her face. Eshne wiped the tears from her face, taking the hand of a Templar. She looked back one last time to see her father on his knees, holding her mother's belly and crying.

[verinne-mattwin]

Aravell braced herself in preparation for holding the thing. She still dropped it. It hit the floor with a thud. Aravell bent down to pick it back up.

"Careful. Don't pick it up with your back, that's a express ticket on the pain train. Bend your knees, reach forwards, push up with your legs."

Aravell obliged, but the mace didn't move. She gave it a heavy yank but it still didn't move.

"Ok, that's enough. If you yank harder you'll pull something. How much can you lift?"

"I'm a wizard."

"That's a pretty good estimate." Laughed the Guard. "No mace, then."

He dragged it over to the rack and left it leaning against the wall. "Now, you already tried the spear. Do you want to try a quarterstaff?"

"Is it very different?"

"A lot of techniques transfer between the two."

"I'll try it."

"Catch."

The Guard threw a six foot long staff at Aravell. She caught it and held it in front of her at an angle.

"Now, hold it in front of you, horizontally. That's right. Now, get a feel for each end. Push one out, match your body movements like you did with the sword. Also, try out some blocks. Feet planted. That's good. Hands in front staff parallel to the ground and hands up. Good. That's an upper block."

"This is much better than the spear."

"You like having it balanced? That's good to know. Halfrag, give her a go?"

[verinne-mattwin]

"Unpleasant, I know, but the consequences are worse if I don't say anything."

The Orange-Haired Wizard agreed.

"How do you think the...cleric? He was a cleric. That we recovered would react?"

"I'm not sure." The Orange-Haired Wizard hadn't considered that. "I don't have much to base it on."

"What's he a patron of?"

"Ilmater."

"Endurance, then. Lawful good."

"Yes."

Halfrag made an indeterminate sound. "No clear way for him to act."

"How well do you know him?"

"We've been traveling together for three months now. Met the group at a bar. They were looking for a mage of some sort. Not well enough to know. I suppose that means I should say goodbye."

"It's your decision."

"Oh. And do you mind?" Halfrag directed the question at Aravell.

"Mind? Oh. The notes? Sure."

Halfrag handed a few sheets of parchment over to Minath. "I took some notes on her transformation."

"Thanks!"

Minath began to read them right there.

[verinne-mattwin]

"Are you settled in?" Halfrag asked Minath. He was aware she had shown up previously.

"Settled well. It's quite the inn."

"I'm glad I won't have to cross town to visit."

"Is now a good time?"

"As good as any. Best time really, we've got about an hour before the place clears up enough to be worth looking for supper."

"Do you know where we're going?"

"Outside the walls. Near the ocean is best."

"Sounds like a plan. Aravell?" The last was spoken loudly into the hall.

The Orange-Haired Wizard quietly stepped into the room a few seconds later. "Yes?"

"I'd like to take both of you out of the city to discuss what happened to you... Where was it? You didn't give me the story."

"I sent her and the rest of her party over east to clean up a mess around the Mackenzies. I wasn't sure exactly what had happened to them, just that they were quite dead and the place was overrun by something. It turned out to be werewolves, and they wiped out the party. Let's get going and I'll finish the story on the way out, otherwise we'll miss the second supper run."

The three left for the city gates.

A few seconds after they exited the inn Halfrag turned back around. Minath stopped and looked at him. "I just remembered I have to stop at the banks on the way out. I'll just grab a few notes."

[verinne-mattwin]

The path was dull, dry, and dusty. The rackety carriage that had gone before them left a pair of lines down the road that formed a nearly straight line into the distance. The three walked relatively silently. Alexis spent her time carefully pacing and balancing to avoid collapsing of either exhaustion or imbalance. Halfrag spent what time he could reliving early memories with his daughter -- her fifth birthday was a favorite. The Orange-Haired Wizard spent the four or five hours traveling counting trees or looking at the various travelers that rode on by.

They passersby were a varied bunch. Some rode on black horses. Some rode on white horses. Quite a few rode on grey or brown horses. The nobles all looked gaudy--their horses were dressed in silks and golden chains, and they all wore some sort of black cloak that shined in the sunlight.

The lesserfolk that passed blended in better. Grey or dully colored clothes merged with brown and grey horses that trotted along, their soft clopping a welcome contrast to the thunder whenever one of the rich folk crashed by. Their belongings carried stories--some had a chest strapped to the back of the saddle, others a guitar. Many had bags of all shapes and sizes, laden with mysterious bulges that Aravell couldn't help but feel an intense curiosity to know the contents.

They passed two merchant trains on their way. Both were traveling the opposite direction, and neither stopped.

[verinne-mattwin]

"So the plan is to split up. The main group goes back to Waterdeep and sends one Minath from the tavern I live in down here. We'll wait a day for her to recover, then come after you."

"Got it." Said the Ranger, "Minath?"

"Half-orc. Probably in robes, but I have no idea what she's dressing in nowadays."

"That's not a common orc name, is it?"

"Doesn't matter. There's going to be a maximum of two orcs in that tavern at any point in time."

"It's really popular."

"Just use my name."

"Alright. We'll wait for you in Waterdeep."

The expedition split, leaving Halfrag, the Orange-Haired Wizard, the Guard, and Aravell waiting on the side of the trail. The Escort Party continued on towards Waterdeep.

Halfrag was going to be late. Very late. They wouldn't meet in the city of Waterdeep at all.

I thought the prophecy said... Yes, it did. I have a copy right here. Shimmering talons shifted a piece of parchment from its pile. Whom meet in the City with the Dragon Silver.

Someone has to come teleport them. Maybe that Minath. Who is she anyway. I need more notes. The dragon shifted, then barked an order.

Several Kobolds shuffled into the moderately lit room. The brought a set of scrying stones to match what were already laid in front of him.

Now, the ritual for past-seeing.

[verinne-mattwin]

"She's out cold."

"Still breathing. Still exuding oscillating lumens."

"What."

"Still exuding--"

"Never mind." Halfrag said, stopping a foot away. "Light can be dangerous. I'm not sure what we should do here."

"Why?"

The Orange-Haired Wizard walked up. "What's going on?"

"Well, she passed out. She should be dead right now."

"She's still breathing."

"Are those traces of wings?"

"They are. Sharp eye."

"To wake, or not to wake. That is the question."

"Shh."

"I've got a feeling. Chandler?"

"Yes?"

"You pick her up and try to put her in the cart. I'll back away with you." Halfrag gestured at the Wizard on the second 'you'.

They took a few steps back, then Aravell bent down and slid her arms underneath the unresponsive oddly-dressed Alexis.

There was a flash of harsh violet light bright enough that Halfrag could see the outlines of his bones through the hands over his face. He then heard a soft thud as Aravell dropped Alexis.

"Ow." Said Alexis.

"I quite enjoyed my visuals." Commented the Wizard, his dry tone of voice enhancing the Ranger's annoyance. "But all that's left is two gouges of torment to castigate myself."

"I closed my eyes." Said Halfrag. "You ok?"

"My head hurts." Groaned Alexis softly, rolling onto her side with effort.

The shadow of wings was gone.

"I've got sunburn." Whimpered Aravell.

"What?" Said Halfrag.

"My arms are all red. And hot. And they hurt. Fuck."