#astarvion

[eldritchweave]

Myrna looked back to the scroll sitting on her makeshift table, purloined parchment, quill, and ink sitting on a downed tree stump. She’d read over the spell scroll’s somatic instructions several times, yet she still couldn’t produce the Ice Knife when she tried.

With a huff of frustration, she dropped down to look over her work again, sitting cross-legged directly on the ground. She’d only just started learning how to pluck the strings of the weave with her will. Arcane studies were something that took time. Finally getting the chance to learn anything at all though was filling Myrna with an excitement teetering on impatience. She appreciated Gale’s willingness to teach her, more than she openly expressed to him yet out of fear for embarrassing herself, but this particular spell wasn’t in his repertoire. He’d shown her how to properly transcribe a spell from a scroll to her meager spellbook, but how was she supposed to learn the actual practice of casting the spell herself?

Her wit was quick, but Myrna had always been a visual and hands-on learner. Reading books about sword technique would never get her anywhere, after all. How could she shift a century worth of learning practice into acquiring knowledge in a new way?    

Looking across camp, she considered admitting defeat. She wasn’t going to ask Gale to waste his time learning the spell just to demonstrate it for her, after all. Why would he even agree to something so ludicrous? Patience was a virtue. She could hold onto the scroll until she advanced further in her arcane studies to acquire the skill needed of learning without assistance.

Unless…

There was one companion in her camp who she had seen cast this spell in battle before: Astarion.

All she needed was to see someone cast it up close, an active demonstration. Yet, thinking of approaching him gave her a moment of pause. The opportunity to be tutored by Gale had come about so naturally, his passion for magic a blaze easily finding the kindling of her long-standing curiosity. To ask Astarion felt like offering him a vulnerability. She wasn’t even confident that he remotely liked her, that well practiced smile leaving even her sharp intuition guessing at his intent.

She was used to being greeted by a sharp tongue if she’s lucky, or by an even sharper blade more oft than not. Despite wanting to see the good in others, the resulting weariness left her inclined to believe she was disliked. If she was lucky, her companions would at least tolerate her long enough to find a way of removing the damned tadpoles.

‘Alright,’ she decided, pushing against her pessimism, ‘worst that happens? He laughs at you. Shoos you away. Just… ask.’

Taking a deep breath, she walked over towards Astarion’s tent on quiet feet.

“Good evening, Astarion. I was wondering if you might be willing to help me with something?”

Unbeknownst to her, the edge of her left hand was covered in still drying ink and there was a small smudge of it on her cheek from where she’d rested her head in her palm while contemplating the spell scroll. As she made her inquiry, her expression showed her uncertainty openly, silver eyes meeting his red.

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(starter for @astarvion)

[fuchsiareign]

cute date ideas for you and the bae

plot

scheme

take over Baldur's Gate

rule all of Faerun