#mabbles

[verathion]

confessions in the dark

wherein daphne is a companion (and rolan is also there lol).

2.5k words of how i'd imagine daphne's confession scene would be.

“Come with me, if you have a moment.” 

Rolan raises a silent brow at Daphne’s words, and the half-elf scoffs, shoulders shrugging as she waves her arms through the air in a moment of exasperation. The companions have been through the ringer, having just come back from the Gauntlet of Shar. There’s a buzz in the air around camp, what with the next step being to infiltrate Moonrise Towers and take Ketheric down. The tiefling is tired, tapped out of his resources; she can tell the last thing he wants to do is humor her. 

“Just—please. It will only take a bloody moment.” Daphne says, sounding more annoyed than she wishes she did. It irritates her to no end how he gets to her, makes her resolve break. But, she has to let her feelings known—she knows full well that they have no idea what tomorrow may bring.

It’s been interesting for Daphne to travel with two fellow wizards. Having grown up in a place where use of the Shadow Weave is common, seeing practitioners of Mystra's Weave has been eye-opening. Gale, of course, is an enigma—“Mystra’s chosen,” he calls himself. Growing up, Daphne has only ever known Mystra as an enemy—but Mystra held interest in him for a reason. He is particularly talented, and gifted for sure. Rolan, though…

Rolan is unique. Well, to Daphne. 

The way Rolan harnesses the Weave is fascinating. He twists it, makes it his own. Even though she’s not familiar with how spells are cast with the normal Weave, she knows his are different. She's watched Rolan and Gale compare notes, compare spellcasting tips, and she's fascinated with his technique. Rolan has even taken interest in her limitations with Mystra's Weave, and has helped her tap into it to cast spells she's never been able to before. To Daphne, he has a brilliant mind—not that she wants to admit it. He has the makings of a grand ego, should she stoke it. But Daphne can’t help but love his mind. 

Instinctively, Rolan has taken the lead in their little rag-tag group of tadpole-infected individuals. He’s been calling the shots, driving their actions. Daphne challenges him often, and they fight and bicker. But it isn’t because she disrespects his authority—it’s because she wants to know. She wants to know how his mind works, how he came to that decision, what good he thinks can come from such a call. She wants to know his vision. His hopes. His dreams.

Before Daphne knew it, she craved it: the bickering, the debates. She’d seek him out just to start something. It took her some time to realize exactly why she was doing this—gods help her, she likes him. Of all the places, the times to start falling for someone, the fate of the world in the balance isn’t what she would call appropriate.  No, she should literally be focusing on anything else. How to take down Ketheric. How to deal with the tadpole. But she can’t shake it: the want to be around him, to speak with him, to know him. She can’t quite call it love—no, not yet. But she’s starting to think she’d like to.

After a long, drawn out silence, Rolan sighs, closing the tome he was reading before placing it gently to the side. 

“Singling me out so you can kill me without witnesses?” He jests, slipping into a comfortable banter that he’s created with her. 

“No,” she says. “Not yet. I have a grand design for you, after all.” The grin that spreads across her face used to be a foreign feeling to her, but she’s grown more accustomed to it as of late, thanks to him. 

“Where to, then?” He asks, returning her grin. 

His acceptance causes her stomach to flip several times, and she wrings her hands nervously as she tries to remember her plan that has somehow suddenly completely escaped her. The tiefling gives her a stare, tilting his head curiously at her behavior, and she snaps back to her normal state. 

“Right,” she begins. “Follow me, please.” 

Rolan nods, and then she beckons him to follow, casting light—a spell he taught her how to use—on her staff to keep the shadows at bay. They travel a few minutes outside of the safety of the Last Light Inn, up a small path that he hadn’t seen before in their travels through the dark. The path twists and turns through the gnarled, dead trees, the occasional groaning from the darkness cutting through the eerie silence of these cursed lands. All the while, Daphne can feel Rolan’s eyes fixed on her back, and she looks behind her every now and then to ensure that he is still following. 

Eventually, the path leads to a patch of overgrowth, angry roots knotted over what looks to be the remnants of a structure. Daphne glides over the terrain, picking up her robes to step over a puddle of muck, and gestures for him to follow her further. As Rolan approaches, she enters the structure, sticking her glowing quarterstaff into the ground before she begins. 

“I brought you here for a demonstration.” The half-elf starts. “A little bit a vulnerability, I loathe to admit.” 

Rolan huffs a laugh. “Is that so?” 

“Don’t fucking gloat.” Daphne shakes her head. “At any rate, let us begin. Do you know what this place is?” 

“No,” Rolan shakes his head with a smile. “A ruin from a bygone era.” 

“Right you are, my most illustrious student,” Daphne says. “This place is long forgotten. Memory lost.” 

Daphne leans down and traces her hands along what was once the foundation, the stone cool and sturdy beneath her fingers despite its condition, smooth from the passage of time wearing away at the material. 

“I know my reputation: a necromancer, a practitioner of the dark arts. That, in combination of my upbringing in Thultanthar...well, they call me a Witch for a reason. But I am not to be feared. My colleagues seek power within the precipice of life and death. I do not. I seek knowledge in that same space.” 

Rolan watches as she waltzes through the space, a small smile creeping across her face. He’s captivated by her movements, her mysterious grace. At first, it chilled him to the bone, like she was a living depiction of death itself. Yet, now, he sees a different side of her and realizes that she doesn’t embody the fear of death. No, the gentleness of it. The eerie peace it brings in its certainty, like those who come to terms with their end on their deathbeds, encouraging their families that they are ready to leave. 

“The other night, I wandered across these lands by myself. Dangerous, I know. You can chide me about that later. But I came across this place, and asked the denizens of Last Light if they knew about it. No one knew. The story of this place has been lost to time. When I came back here, I noticed a small family plot behind it, beneath some roots. I gently deterred their remains, and listened to their story.” 

Daphne’s fingers move, and for a moment, the space is as it once was—her illusory magic bringing it back to life. Rolan smiles as he feels the tendrils of her Weave take form, and it dances along with his own, wrapping around his magical essence like a chill embrace. Her illusion brings warmth back into the space, four walls, a hearth, and a happy family. Two human children run about with reckless abandon, laughter filling the air. 

“The Eska family lived here,” Daphne says, walking through the scene as she dictates. “Trevor Eska built this house with nothing but his bare hands and hard earned coin. Not long after, he met a woman named Evaline, and the two fell in love and were wed. Together, they brought forth their twin children, Yve and Norn, named after Trevor’s late parents.

“Trevor was a potter,” Daphne leans down to pick up a pottery fragment lodged in the dirt. “His signature was his glaze—a special blend of materials that, when fired, would create a distinct crackling pattern. His children did not carry on his trade, so his craft died with him. Nothing like it has been seen in centuries.” 

Daphne lays the shard in Rolan’s open palm, and he inspects it. The tiefling uses a finger to wipe away some of the dirt that covers it, revealing the smooth glaze she speaks of—white, yet beneath the glossy coating, he can see a deep, blue web of the crackling pattern as described. Normally, he wouldn’t pay any heed to something like this. Yet, from Daphne’s story, he can see it in a new light. It is…precious, not just a simple shard. An heirloom. A legacy. He feels the breath leave his lungs as the weight of this little fragment suddenly becomes heavy in his palm. 

“Trevor’s pottery, his skill, his craft had been forgotten, his legacy lost. I carry it with me now. As do you.” Daphne smiles, using her fingers to close his over the fragment. “All of this to say: this is my passion. My drive. I search for knowledge. Others find it in books. I find it in the dead and their stories.” 

Her eyes look up to him, and Rolan realizes they are closer than they’ve ever been. In the midst of battle, they are leagues apart, slinging spells at their enemies, making sure their bolts don’t cross to create an even bigger mess. Now, the half-elf’s fingers linger on his own, her face barely a foot away. Rolan can’t help but catch his breath at the sight of her, her golden gaze framed by her thick, dark lashes. 

“Do you fear me?” She asks quietly, slowly moving her fingers away from his. “Like all the rest? Do you think my practice dark? My magic foul? Do you think me wicked?” 

Rolan’s eyes scan her for a moment, trying to discern her intent with her words. The warmth of her illusion still surrounds him, and for a moment, he’s captivated by her face in the light of her own magic. He memorizes every line, every freckle, every feature, capturing it to remember for the rest of his days. 

“You stand on the precipice of the dark, I cannot lie,” he says, voice hushed. “You walk among twilight of good and evil.” 

“Pretty words,” she says with a small smile. “But not an answer.” 

Rolan flashes her a grin, his fangs pronounced and proud. 

“I do not fear you.” He says finally. “I do not think you wicked.” 

At his words, her illusion fades, the two of them standing in the dark once more. Her eyes, though, still glow with the remnants of her magic, and they pierce through him like a blade. He happily accepts that blade’s sting. Daphne closes the gap between them, and places her hand back over his fist that holds that special little shard. 

“Good.” Daphne says, her eyes flickering down to watch her hand over his. “I do not care what most people think of me. They hear I am a necromancer, the city of my birth, and they cower. I’ve learned that it is ignorance, and to ignore it. But for some irritating reason, I care what you think of me. I do not want you to fear me.” 

Rolan’s breath catches for a moment yet again. But, he recovers, a sly grin creeping across his face as her words register in his mind.

“Is this an admission of something?” He asks quietly, as if the shadows that surround him can hear. 

Daphne returns his grin. 

“Perhaps.” She says. “I admire you, Rolan. I--” she clears her throat, removing her hands to smooth down her robes in a fit of nerves, “I care for you.”

Rolan’s eyes go wide, even though he knew it was coming. 

“Daphne, I—”

“Look here,” Daphne says, getting defensive because of his tone—the potential of rejection, “I am not asking for your hand in marriage or anything like that. I went through that once before—just—we don’t know what tomorrow will bring. Tomorrow, we will raid Moonrise towers. If something were to happen, and I hadn’t said a word of my feelings, I—”

“Stop talking,” Rolan mutters, and before she can retort, he leans forward and silences her with his lips.

At first, she’s shocked by the tiefling’s boldness, and she parts from him with a soft smack, her eyes wild as she scans his face for any sort of regret. 

Judging by his small smirk, there is none. 

They crash together once more, lips claiming one another in a moment of breathy passion. The half-elf is surprised by how warm he is—a gift of his infernal heritage. In kind, the tiefling is surprised by how cool she is, despite her living body—the practice of her magic no doubt influencing her body’s natural state. Their kiss lasts for what seems like an eternity, their lips gliding together in a rhythm only they know, but it must end eventually, and this time, Rolan parts from her, the smack just a little bit louder than last time. He rests his forehead against hers and lets out a breathy laugh. 

“Cal and Lia will never let me hear the end of this,” he mutters, eyes closed as he savors the coolness of her skin. “They’ve been making bets with the others as to which one of us would make the first move, as if I wouldn’t find out about it.” 

“Oh?” Daphne says with a smile. “Do you know the wagers?” 

“Cal and Lia are in the camp of ‘they’ll never admit it to each other, they’re both too proud.’ Gale, Karlach, and Wyll have bet that I’d make the first move. Astarion and Shadowheart bet on you. Lae’zel and Halsin have declined to place any bets.” 

“What a shame,” Daphne laughs, “that no one asked Withers of his opine.” 

“Oh, they did, the wretches. I believe Withers said something akin to: ‘The spindles of fate create a tapestry not unlike the Weave from which they both draw power,’ and Cal and Lia marked him as ‘undecided.’” 

“The rascals,” Daphne shakes her head, and then stands on her toes to plant a kiss to his forehead, right between his horns. Rolan laughs softly, using his hand to gently tilt her face back down so he can kiss her again and again and again. 

“Let’s take this,” he says through kisses, “back to camp.” 

Daphne smiles against his lips. 

“Lead the way.” 

[twilightarcade]

i ddo like strawberry lady

[owormy]

special agent dale cooper is an unsettlingly put together little boy in a suit to me. he's like one of the delightful children down from the lane

[williamshamspeare]

WHOOPS MINDY my mistake i thought you were talking abt maz

Mindy Mazzy Mandi Middy

[theresattrpgforthat]

Hi! I'd like to run a game that's Jane Austen-esque or a political/social drama with fantasy elements. Think A Court of Fey and Flowers, except I don't want to subscribe to their channel so I haven't actually seen it. Fairy settings in particular would be appreciated! Thank you in advance

THEME: Political and Social Drama

Hello, I think I have a really fun collection of options for you to take a peek at. We’ve got fairies, we’ve got secrets, and we’ve got drama!

Fey Court Chaos, by Mabbly.

Fey aristocrats party the equinox away. You have been invited by the most prestigious monarchs of this wild magical land. Parlay with potential allies, humiliate your enemies, & impress those worth impressing–but avoid getting kicked out yourself!

Fey Court Chaos is a party-based tabletop role-playing game designed to let you escalate a royal ball into dramatic highs and lows. You will need a pool of dice or coins to play. Any kind will do, but the fancier the better!

This is a game about trying to make a name for yourself while possibly ruining the status of your companions. You’ll wager points of Reputation every time you do something risky, with the risks rising depending on the status of the person you’re interacting with. Success means a rise in reputation or learning a juicy secret. Failure means losing someone’s favour, or even giving one of your own secrets away! If you love fantasy faerie settings, this game gives you all the basics, and has advice for the game runner as well. You should definitely check it out!

The 147th Annual Necromancer’s Ball, by Meghan Cross.

You are cordially invited…

The 147th Necromancer's Ball is a one page TTRPG about necromancy and feeling fancy for a GM and 3-6 players played with a single d6.

You are necromancers attending The 147th Necromancer's Ball, dressed to the nines with your familiars in tow. You are ready to have a wonderful time, but more than that you are ready to show your rival once and for all that you are better than them by displaying your social prowess (and maybe even winning Necromancer of the Year.)

But not everything goes according to plan when a party crasher shows up to ruin the evening for everyone - and it is up to you to stop them and save the party!

This is a game all about being dramatic as fuck and also petty as fuck. You can roll Necromancy when you want to do magic or command the undead, and you roll Feeling Fancy when you engage in social entanglements or navigate the ball. Showing that you’re the Necromancer of the Year won’t be easy, especially once a party crasher shows up to complicate things - and possibly steal your chances of winning!

If you love silly games, as well as taking time to describe just how drop-dead (pardon the pun) gorgeous you look, this might be your game.

Avalon Society, by Martian Machinery.

Avalon Society is a game about courtly love and intrigue, and the conflict between passion and duty. You'll play knights, lords, ladies, upstarts, pretenders, unknowns, or possibly a changeling or a sorcerer. Pull swords out of stones, break curses, ascend to the round table, duel your rivals, or even fall in love with them. It’s up to you.

Avalon Society is a setting created for Good Society, which is the game of social intrigue, and in fact, the game that helped build A Court of Fae and Flowers! Good Society takes place in the same time as Jane Austen’s novels, but Avalon Society replaces character roles and family backgrounds in order to represent an Arthurian story. The court also shifts seasonally, which feels very reminiscent of a fairy court. The biggest downside - you also have to buy Good Society in order to use this supplement.

Townhouse Dracula, by Tenbear.

You have the opportunity to attend a dinner party at the one and only Townhouse Dracula. Here you will vie for Dracula’s favour, which includes eternal life and power beyond your imagination.

To decide who gains this power Dracula puts party guests through a gauntlet of past memories. Guests do their best to impress Dracula and convince them that they would be an asset to have in the Dracula lineage. 

Townhouse Dracula presents the players with scenarios that their characters will have to navigate, trying to piece together Dracula’s memories when they might not have all the answers.

This is first and foremost an improv game, so it’s good for people who like coming up with pieces of a story on the fly. You’ll get tokens as rewards for being funny, clever, bold, kind, etc. At the end of the game, you’ll tally your score and determine whether or not you become part of Dracula’s lineage. If you like the mysterious allure of vampires and want to stretch your storytelling muscles, you might want to check out this game.

Tax Cuts and Pixie Dust, by Weird Blue Yonder.

The home of a sordid assortment of terrible woodland spirits doing terrible things in a desperate bid to sit atop the Fairy Throne.

You are those woodland spirits, and election season is just around the corner…

Tax Cuts and Pixie Dust is probably the most political game on this list. It uses pretty standard faerie tropes - you can be an elf, a leprechaun, a banshee… even a giant! All of you are supposed to be part of the same party, but you all secretly want the throne!

This is a game about dirty politicians, with the humour and camp turned up to allow you to get really ridiculous with it. The resolution system involves building small dice pools of d6’s, tallying successes to see how you fared. The GM is responsible for presenting scenarios and complications, which are present in a few roll tables. At the end of elections you vote on each player’s position in the new court, and that’s game!

Butterfly Court, by mishagw.

In Butterfly Court, you will play as a member of the titular Butterfly Court, the court of the monarchy of the kingdom Praecia. This is a court intrigue game that uses the No Dice No Masters system, based on Avery Alder's Belonging Outside Belonging games.

This is a storytelling, roleplaying game, where players portray members of a court, but not necessarily the monarch or the heir. Instead, the game focuses on everyday lives, intrigue, relationships, obligations, and myriad other concerns of the regular people in the court: nobles, but also staff, servants, artists, and other people that make court life possible.

Butterfly Court doesn’t dictate who you are exactly, but it leaves a broad space for different kinds of supernatural beings. So if you want faeries, this game is certainly able to take place in a faerie court. The game is designed to pit your characters into situations that are difficult for the country at large: rebellions, scandals, famine, crime, etc. You also create factions that have different methods and priorities.

Everything that you create together is shared communally, because Butterfly Court uses a GM-less, diceless game system. This means that you’ll each have shared authority over where the story goes next, although there is a cycle of play that helps you move from one scene to the next. I think that the idea of this being a game about different factions navigating political turmoil has the potential to be represented really well through a collaborative system like this.

Games I've Recommended in the Past

If you want something more like Jane Austen, you might like Le Bon Ton! If you like equal parts adventure and social intrigue, then Household might be for you.

[zenith-at]

blobo

mabble the bab wa

[spikey-ferret]

My BPD headcanons from series I like:

-Zuko (avatar last airbeder

-Hua Cheng (heavenly officials blessing

-Jinx (arcane

-Wen Kexing (word of honor

-Mabble Pines (gravity falls

-Howl Pendragon (howl's moving castle

[beepadoobop]

mabble

[mjwrightnz]

The obscure word of the week is mabble

The obscure word of the week is mabble

This week’s obscure English word is mabble. I believe a word with this spelling is currently used as the brand name of a version of Scrabble involving numbers instead of letters, which I presume makes the game title a coined portmanteau term. However, mabble is also a genuine and much older English word of its own that means ‘to wrap up. Your challenge: write a sentence or two in the comments…

[verathion]

domus

It's been years since Daphne last step foot in Baldur's Gate, and if there's one thing she hasn't missed, it's the pomp and circumstance. When something big happens in the Gate, the patriar families have to compete as they always do--and now, their competition extends to Daphne, her companions, and who can celebrate their victory over the Absolute the best.

Awful.

The fake smiles, the empty praises. She hates it all. Maybe it isn't as false as she thinks; maybe some of them are genuinely thankful. But, much like her friend Astarion's musings at the tiefling party after their assault of the Goblin Camp--she's not used to being a hero. She's not used to being in the limelight. The first party wasn't so bad; it was a much needed respite from their long and arduous journey to free themselves of that damned tadpole. But tonight? It's the seventh party hosted by a patriar family in a tenday, and if she has to hear one more praise, she may scream.

No, she is not the hero type. Once the novelty wears off, they'll go back to fearing her, hating her for her practice of necromancy, her dark magic. She'll be outcast yet again, not that she minds. Daphne is used to being on her own, walking to the beat of her own drum, exploring ancient ruins, speaking with the dead there. The way things used to be. The way things should be.

As she sits in the corner of the balcony at the manor house of her current party, she sighs. Maybe tomorrow she can slip away. She'll leave a note for her friends. They'll understand--they know she's not made for this life. They know she's not a fan of being in the Gate. Suddenly, her thoughts are interrupted when she hears footsteps behind her. Her upper lip curls into a snarl, annoyed that someone deems it their right to disturb her moment of peace, but when she turns, her face slackens when she sees Rolan standing there.

"Oh," she says, turning back towards the balcony railing, looking out towards the nighttime skyline of the city. "It's you."

Rolan huffs an indignant laugh, tilting his head with a grin. The tiefling wizard's tail sways curiously behind him as he looks her over: huddled in a corner, trying to hide herself behind a particularly large planter. It's odd, seeing her like this; he's so used to her heroism, her bravery in the face of danger--seeing her cowering is something else indeed.

"This seems familiar," he says to her back. "Except, last time, I was in your position, I was inebriated, and we were in Moonrise surrounded by the shadow curse."

Daphne groans. "I'm not in the mood for banter, Rolan." She says quietly. She slips her legs through two slots in the railing, her feet hanging freely in the air as she hugs the balusters close, pressing her face into the cool, smooth granite.

"Clearly," he says, approaching her slowly. "I couldn't help but notice you disappeared. I wanted to make sure you were alright, is all."

"I'm quite alright," Daphne answers his inquiry. "In fact, I'm better than ever now that I'm here, alone, on this balcony. Well, I was alone. It appears I am no longer."

Rolan puts two hands up in mock surrender, waving them gently to dismiss her bristly words. "I'll make my leave. I know when I'm not wanted."

Daphne groans again, turning her gaze over her shoulder before telling him quietly, "You can stay, if you must. Just, please, for the love of all that is good, don't wax poetic about my skills."

"You know I won't do that," Rolan smirks as he makes his way over, sitting next to her, mimicking her position as he slips his legs between the balustrade, dangling his feet next to her. "I am far more skilled than you."

"Ah. Much better." Daphne shakes her head with a soft grin. "You can officially stay."

The two of them sit in quiet contemplation for a time: Rolan wondering what to say, and Daphne savoring the comfort of it. The lull of the muffled noise from the party inside sounds like a distant thunder, and Daphne smiles to herself when she can hear Gale laugh above it all.

"Does it feel good?" Rolan asks. "Not the praise--clearly, you have a disdain for that. Being home, I mean."

Daphne mulls her lip at his question, a low, uncomfortable groan bubbling in her throat as she wrestles whether or not to be honest with him. Her lips stretch into a small grimace, and she hisses when she decides to be vulnerable.

"No," the half-elf answers. "This place has not been my home in some time. I left for Candlekeep after my..." she pauses, the words stuck in the back of her throat, unwilling to be said, "husband passed."

Rolan's eyes widen for a moment, but he quickly recovers, trying not to look too surprised at the revelation. He leans back, resting his palms on the cold stone of the balcony as he continues to listen, saying nothing. Daphne sighs, head hanging between her shoulders as she relents, and tells him more.

"We were young and dumb," she continues. "And in love, I suppose. I was selling scrolls at a booth in Wyrm's Crossing, and he was a member of the Fist, and would patrol the area during the day. He'd always stop to talk to me and ask me how business was going. It took me weeks to realize he never asked any other vendor the same question.

"The next thing I knew, we were married. Had a little flat in the Lower City. He was a good, good man. An honorable man. Oh, how proud he would have been to see me like this. Hero of Baldur's Gate. But as any member of law enforcement, he made enemies. Busted a group of slavers operating in the caverns under Rivington. They didn't like that, you see. Made a house call to voice their grievance. Killed him, nearly killed me. The survivor's guilt weighed heavily on me. Especially when--"

She stops herself, looking at him with a gaze of shame, her golden eyes wet for a moment, but then she takes a deep breath and quells the emotion. Perhaps she will keep that last bit to herself.

"Well," she mutters. "Enough about that. My grief was all encompassing. Unbearable. Everything around me reminded me of him. The sun, the smells, the sounds, the people. I had to leave. So I did. Isolated myself in Candlekeep for five years. That's where I wrangled myself into a position with the Antiquities Guild. Now that I'm back? Everything still reminds me of him. And I hate it."

Rolan sighs through his nose as he processes her story. For a moment, his amber eyes look up to the sky, and then back to her.

"I don't know if I could ever go back to Elturel." He begins, trying to find some common ground to relate to her story. "It's home, surely, and we can't go back, as it is. But after everything that's happened...I wouldn't want to. It's tainted, gone. I suppose that's why I was so adamant to reach the Gate, to start my apprenticeship with Lorroakan, despite his reputation. I wanted security for Cal, Lia and I. I wanted a new home for us. And I wanted no one to ever question it again."

Daphne turns her head towards him, resting her head against the balusters again as she looks up at him.

"No one is more deserving, after all you've been through," she gives him a half smile. "I am glad you have found your new home."

"And you?" Rolan asks. "Is Candlekeep your home? Will you go back?"

Daphne lets out a long sigh, leaning back to mimic his position. Her fingers tap on the stone beneath her as she mulls over his question.

"I don't think of it as my home, no. Will I go back? Probably. I haven't exactly decided. Though, if I get another invitation to a party, I will simply vanish. I can't do it again, Rolan." She jests. "But, in all seriousness...I do have to eventually return. I have obligations to my guild, after all."

"Right, right." Rolan nods. "Antiquities. Ancient ruins and tombs and artifacts and all of that."

Silence falls between them again, both of their eyes drawn to the stars above. Both of them have words on the tips of their tongues, but struggle if they should say it. After an agonizing moment, Rolan finally speaks, his hand rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

"Well," he begins. "You are always welcome at Ramazith's Tower."

It's all he can muster to say, though the words have weight to them--a hidden promise between the margins. Daphne tilts her head over to him once more, giving him a half-smile. She can read between the lines.

"Thank you," she says. "I'll keep that in mind."

[forestfolke]

late night doodle :-)

[mawbwehownets]

OH I DIDNT EXPECT THEYD MENTION MARVLE HORNETS BY NAME

[thrumples]

i think this image speaks for itself

[objectedits]

some trans/lesbian/trans lesbian mabble (that’s the ship name right?) icons i made for fun (and bc i’m kinnie) - mod bulb!!

[bunniepaws]

oh god i had a dream jenna marbles dog marble died n im just now remembering

[plushiezafara]

thank you @thedarkestfurry for inserting mabel into scooterverse god this is good