#she grew up as a drow noble and she's fine with that as someone who benefits from that system | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

the-masked-ram · 6 months

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Flawed Hope- Chapter Two

CW: NSFW, Fem OC, Slow Burn, Isekai, Vampirism (do I even need to warn this), Canon Divergent, enemies to lovers, mental health issues, spoilers for BG3

--- Chapter Two: When It’s Not a Dream

Brit honestly got along with almost everyone in the party so far; Wyll, Gale, Lae’zel- though she would admit there was some uncomfortable tension there- and Shadowheart. She knew Karlach and her would probably be just fine as well. Yet Astarion… was it normal for a favorite character to rub someone so wrong once they were face to face with them?

They’d finally bedded down for the night in the Grove and Brit was so exhausted. Things she’d learned: she apparently had her character’s physical abilities and things that required muscle memory like some of her fighting skills. Yet, the knowledge, the charisma, and the intelligence required to do certain things was nowhere to be found.

It made fighting actually very hard. Honestly, Brit wondered if this was just some joke of a dream where she would wake up right before she died. But… she looked down at the injuries she had received despite how small they were. The knicks and scrapes, the purpling bruises, it all felt so real. It hurt, and each time the worm in her mind reacted to one of the others’ it was even more painful. Like it was burrowing so violently into her skull that it was taking chunks of her grey matter with it.

She was a ranger, just like Ritlyn, she was supposed to use a bow, she was supposed to use swords or daggers and have a myriad of spells at her beck and call, and right now she could barely take sight with her short bow in hand. Despite knowing how to string it, despite knowing how to knock it, and how to pull it tight enough, she couldn’t release it right, she couldn’t take aim. How was she supposed to survive? How was she supposed to keep the party alive?

“Where are you going?” Shadowheart asked as Brit stood and walked down toward the center of the druid’s and tiefling’s encampment.

Brit froze for a moment, swallowing. She was dreaming, yet… she was worried about dying. Did it make sense? No. Shouldn’t she be worried about sleeping and then waking up in the real world? That seemed like the most likely scenario this whole thing would take. Yet, something inside her, something that felt distinctly like another entity, something situated deep in her bones and not where the worm squirmed in her mind, said to ‘survive’.

Survival hinged on fighting prowess in this place. Which meant, Brit looked down at the bow in her hands. She needed to get better. She needed to figure this shit out.

In a set of drow hands that were pale from vitiligo on the palms and all the way up her forearms. She remembered catching a glimpse of her face in the water. She looked like a drow, she looked like Ritlyn, white birthmarks spread across her face. It splotched over her eyes and crept like thin fog over one side of her face, trailing across her cheekbones and cradling her lips. Until it grew faint and disappeared into the dark purple of her skin. She’d shed her shirt to wash blood from it and just like she expected it also covered half her ribs, swirling over her sternum in gentle cloud-like patterns. She sported half the Lolth priestess tattoo, the red spider webs that spread out in thick whirling pattens across her right temple and jaw. She had the teal hair with brown low lights, and she had those icy purple eyes.

Did that mean she also had Ritlyn’s past too? Did that mean drow in the Underdark knew her as a noble who’d fallen from grace? All because she’d had shit luck at the genetic lottery. A drow who’d taken on a different religious mantle, a drow who changed to a ranger instead of a cleric because it was easier to survive alone in the Underdark that way, and a drow who’d hunted priestesses of her own city with a vengeance.

That same part of her that screamed ‘survival’ also twisted with hate and scorn as the thought of Ritlyn’s history came up. Brit wrinkled her nose. What did all this mean?

“Are you intentionally ignoring me?” Shadowheart asked, waving her hand in front of Brit’s face.

Brit blinked and shook her head, smiling awkwardly, “Sorry. No. Just need… wanted to shoot a bit. It helps clear my mind.”

Such a fucking liar, her thoughts hissed poisonously.

Shadowheart narrowed her eyes and regarded the bow in Brit’s grasp, “Right, just don’t irritate any of the guard. We cannot afford that.

She looked at Brit closely one more time, suspicion in her slitted eyes.

“And make sure to get some sleep tonight.”

“O-of course,” Brit nodded and scurried off.

Before she knew it Brit found herself on the training grounds. Thankfully in her dream it seemed the tieflings had a more realistic schedule than the game. It was nearing sunset and the children had all started off to bed. So, the training arena was empty.

The first thing she did was string her bow. She wouldn’t deny, it did give her some sense of relaxation, some sense of stability, doing this part. Yet, as she stood pulling the string taught and anchoring it still, she realized there was so much wrong.

She had pulled it too tight, so much so she was shaking too much to take good aim. She hadn’t taken in the target right; her sightline was too far to the left. All these things accumulated one after the other and she failed to hit her targets again and again.

“Are you sure you’re a ranger, darling?” a lilting voice teased, a voice Brit knew too well.

Her shoulders slumped and shame burned hot in her stomach, painfully. Everything twisted inside her. She wasn’t a ranger, she wasn’t meant to be here, and thank god it was time to turn in for the night judging by the looks of the sky.

“Leave me alone, Astarion,” she said, clenching her fingers tight around her bow.

He laughed, that light and airy sound that wrapped her in sharp thorns and squeezed tight. She looked up at him, through hair that wasn’t her own, and she hated him in that moment. She knew this was just who he was. It was the reason she’d fallen in love with his character. There were things she knew about him, things she’d seen from her past runs through Baldur’s Gate Three that had given her sneak peeks into the depth of who he was and why he did things. Though since she’d never romanced him, she was certain she was missing out on things. Still, loving jerks in fantasy was completely different than loving them when you were face to face with them. She couldn’t wait for this shit to be over.

“I can always teach you, wouldn’t want you getting us killed out there,” he said smoothly. “Or getting your lovely neck separated from your even lovelier head.”

This was all wrong. All wrong. She shook her head and walked away, not even deigning him with an answer. Yet that didn’t seem to bother him as he giggled behind her, left alone in the shadows like the rogue he was.

She slipped into the camp in hopes everyone else was asleep. But just like the game they stayed awake late; Gale was reading a book, Wyll was practicing some sort of swordsmanship that Brit could only home to emanate in her dreams, Shadowheart was meditating, and Lae’zel was sharpening her broadsword. Brit heard the rustle of dirt and leaves behind her and she looked over her shoulder to see Astarion joining the group without even glancing in her direction. She gripped her bow even tighter, until her nails bit into her skin lightly.

Brit forced herself not to interact with anyone, instead she moved to her own tent, her own bedroll, and she laid down. She just wanted to sleep, she just wanted to get out of this nightmare of a dream where things were too lucid, too real. She didn’t want this worm in her brain, the thing inside her telling her to survive, and she sure as hell didn’t want Astarion looking down his nose at her. She couldn’t even voice her displeasure at him truly, since her anger at him was all about a situation she said was fine already.

So, she rolled over without a second though, covered herself with the heavy blanket and she waited for sleep to claim her.

And did it claim her, with visions of the Astral Plane. A place Brit knew she shouldn’t see yet. She was sitting on the platform the player always did, waiting for her ‘guardian’. He stood just off to the side, a tiefling with a similar vitiligo burst on the opposite side of his face compared to Ritlyn. A scar twisted his cheek, and he towered over her even when she stood and brushed herself off.

“It’s good to see you survive, Ritlyn,” he said. “Or should I call you Brit?”

Everything stopped then, Brit’s heart stuttered before slamming against her ribs, her breath hiccupped before coming in shallow pants, and she was certain all thoughts in her head came to a screeching halt.

“What?” Brit asked dumbly.

“Welcome to the Sword Coast, the Astral Plane. Or as you know it, Baldur’s Gate Three.”

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion x fem oc #astarion #fanfiction

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kyanve · 4 years

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That Time I Became A Familiar In D&D/Signed On To Help My Familiar Become A God

So one of the campaigns I was in that ended up with a large number of stories was the one where I was playing Avelwyn, the LG Sorcerer (3.5 ed, Ice Elemental Savant prestige class). When I pitched the character idea to the DM, the DM was absolutely gleeful about it and lit up.

I know, I know, that’s a warning sign, but given the kind of plots that ends up with, it’s a fish-hook I swallow every time.

See, it was a Forgotten Realms campaign, and while I grew up on D&D, my familiarity with the Realms was scattershot; I was way more familiar with Dragonlance and Greyhawk, and to add to it, my knowledge of the Realms was also back around early AD&D 2.0. Needless to say, I did not remember jack or shit about a lot of the less well known gods in the Realms.

The DM had planned the campaign around capitalizing on how meddlesome gods can get in Faerun.

I was an ICE ELEMENTAL SAVANT.

The character was from the Aglarondan border, right by the death swamp, and had grown up in a small keep that was basically watching for any Thayan forces that decided it was a good idea to brave the edges of the swamp; this did limit his knowledge base starting out. And I, out of character, was completely oblivious to the fact that the Goddess Of Ice in Faerun

Chaotic Evil.

And Avelwyn had started working with Numestra, our specialty cleric of the Red Knight (LN), on tactics that involved liberal use of summoning spells.

Aka, a great way to potentially get attention of the CHAOTIC EVIL goddess of the realm your LAWFUL GOOD ass is summoning shit from.

This was in college, so while I was doing some reading up on stuff relevant, I was also a College Student and focusing on things I thought were most relevant and not reading things like the book on Gods Of The Forgotten Realms.

I was still oblivious when I pondered the idea of taking Improved Familiar as a feat to get an Ice Mephit, something with the DM happily encouraged the Hell out of.

I am That Player who sees the neon signs of a trap and walks right in.

Shortly AFTER that, Avelwyn gained access to a library and was doing research, and rolled VERY WELL studying elemental planes, and the DM handed me the book with a wide grin pointing to the entry on Auril, and as I remember I had a few very interesting swear words and my forehead hit the table.

But, I already had my ice mephit who was a perfectly helpful familiar even if it seemed a little too clever sometimes (and the DM ran the familiar completely).

The first sign something was Not Quite Right was when we were in camp, and our CN drunken halfling barbarian, Aunderall, was poking the mephit with a stick....

And got levitated and left there, floating in mid air, by the mephit.

This is not an ability Ice Mephits have.

The second sign something was Not Quite Right was when a priest of Bane was trying to kidnap one of the party to get information out of and got Avelwyn cornered....

And the Mephit cast Dimension Door.

On the other side, back with the party, Avelwyn stared at his familiar with a lot of “...the fuck?”, as Dimension Door was a spell he himself was too low level to cast.

“What the Hell is with Avelwyn’s Familiar” became a running question through the campaign and all the other plots; the “mephit” was generally pretty quiet and didn’t do anything that noticeable unless Avelwyn was in severe danger, besides occasional reactions to Aunderall, but trolling Aunderall was pretty much a party hobby.

Eventually, we were getting up there in levels, and we ended up in the Underdark, as often happens in higher level FR campaigns. We ended up in a cavern facing off against a Drow Blackguard with a displacer beast companion; someone had done something to put the displacer beast out of the fight (not permanently) that I do not remember. We managed to trap the Blackguard in an Otiluke’s Resilient Sphere, and Avelwyn, very grouchy after the amount of havoc the Blackguard had wrought on his friends, was waiting outside the sphere with a wand of petrification.

The DM had been counting turns until the Displacer Beast was back in play.

So, a thing to understand here is that I’d sorta intentionally built Avelwyn to be the “frail sharp minded mage that got utterly dismissed as a kid for being stuck in a Soldier Household”, and 3.5 sorcs had sucky HP to begin with.

So, when the Displacer Beast with multiple attacks ambushed him with Smite Good AND the extra bonuses for Protecting Its Master, Avelwyn pretty much got OMGWTFPWN’ed to “DEAD” in that one turn.

There was a moment of panic from the party, who had to fight off the displacer beast; once it was down, before Numestra could even start trying to tally options, the mephit landed on Avelwyn’s corpse and Plane Shifted with it.

At this point, the DM took me out of the room.

Avelwyn woke up in the Elemental Plane of Ice, with a creature waiting that was Most Definitely Not A Mephit despite being able to sense the familiar bond. Turns out the familiar was a LG Ice Elemental Noble who was looking for a way to do something about Auril’s reign, but had been short on options that she wouldn’t notice; Avelwyn had gotten lucky the few times he’d summoned ice elementals before he found out that was A Bad Idea, and had drawn this noble’s attention before Auril noticed. When he did the Improved Familiar ritual, the noble had the idea that nurturing and cultivating a like-minded mortal would be a good way to find allies who would be able to help in overthrowing Auril without her realizing what they were doing and quashing it before anything could be a threat to her.

The noble apologized for the deception over the time they’d been serving as a familiar, and asked if Avelwyn would be willing, when the time came, to help with that overthrow; if he said no, he’d be returned to his plane and the noble would keep looking and stay quiet until another opportunity presented itself.

Avelwyn, of course, said yes.

There was a little more discussion about the risk of Auril realizing and that the safest way to go about it was for Avelwyn to allow a wipe of his memory of the conversation until a later date, which Avelwyn agreed to.

At this point, we returned to the room with everyone else, as the mephit and Avelwyn Plane Shifted back to the party, Avelwyn whole and fine.

Numestra was not high enough level to cast True Resurrection, but was more than savvy enough to realize that’s what had been used; she also wasn’t able to cast Plane Shift yet.

The mephit set about casting Guards And Wards on the cavern so the party could rest after the grueling fight, and Avelwyn was dazed and confessed that he had no idea what had just happened either, prompting Numestra to sit and watch the Mephit work and ask, “What the Hell are you, really?”

The mephit turned around and wordlessly conjured a smiley face made of ice in mid air, and went back to setting defenses.

The campaign ended up being cut short before we got into the Epic Levels, and when we wound down for the summer, the DM acquiesced to answering what the plan would’ve been for the epic level campaign - by going “Tell them what happened in the cave”.

And That is the saga of how I ended up signing on to help my familiar become a god. (Or honestly, becoming the familiar of an Ice Elemental noble.)

#D&D #tales from tabletop #Avelwyn #Forgotten REalms #If we'd pulled it off Avelwyn would have gotten Cleric levels

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g00dberry · 5 years

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this is me asking about your campaign

Anon, I am so fucking glad that you asked. Alight kiddies strap yourselves in and get ready to hear the story of Fortune’s Favor cause this is the hyper-fixation to end all hyper-fixations for me right now. (BTW, all art for the party members was done by @Tallinier on Twitter! She’s amazing and you all should go check her out right now!). Anyways:

See that? That’s Ar’De. The main continent that our D&D campaign takes place on. You might have noticed that huge white sprawl right in the middle there. That’s called The Conflict Zone. That also happens to be the name of our campaign itself, The Conflict Zone.

The Conflict Zone is an area of the continent that has existed since the dawn of recorded history. It has always contained things that do not make sense and is home to creatures not of the material plane. The topography of it is constantly shifting, changing, re-arranging. It is impossible to map out. Portals to thousands of other realms are constantly opening and closing within its borders, and creatures from these other realms have recently begun to take notice of these portals in larger numbers. The Orcs, Humans, Elves, and Dwarves have all made a pact to do their best to contain this threat on their shared borders, but something is happening... While the shared governments are trying to keep it under wraps, The Conflict Zone is expanding. More and more things are coming through those portals, and those who live closest to it have been facing grave dangers and strange occurrences more and more lately.

However, our story doesn’t begin with The Conflict Zone. It actually begins with a man. A man known only as Gaust. 20 years before the events of this campaign, a powerful man known as Gaust led a violent uprising centered in the human country of Empiria that killed many people. Gaust himself supposedly had powers that were evil and astounding. On top of his own abilities, he had the power to give other people arcane abilities. It was said that his mere presence was enough to make those around him just as bad as he was. However, nobody really knows for sure, as nobody ever claimed to have truly met the man in person. That is, until the current king of Empiria, Ryborn Hauzer -

(That guy) - slayed Gaust himself, and put an end to his 5 year reign of terror. Things were pretty okay for 20 years after that, and that’s where our heroes meet each other.

Why don’t we get to know our heroes? They’ve recently started to garner a reputation for themselves, and have decided to call their little group Fortune’s Favor (It’s a miracle none of us are dead yet, so we’ve gotta be somewhat lucky, right? Right?). They weren’t always a recognizable group of heroes though. In fact, they started out sleeping in the haymow of some guy’s barn, just outside the human capital of Union. With only a few coins to their name and a shared goal of joining the legendary Pathfinder’s Guild for various reasons, they decided to team up to try and earn some coin together, attempting to get past the nasty 500 GP application fee to even try out for the Pathfinders.

But enough about that, why don’t we finally talk about these lovable losers?

First up is Sarrali Farseer, a Tiefling Hunter Ranger 5 / Wild Magic Sorcerer 2:

Sarrali found herself designated as the leader of the group rather quickly which was really concerning for her (especially considering that she’s the youngest at the ripe age of 21!). She’s never seen herself as much of a people person. She grew up on the rugged streets of Vandis, Empiria’s military capital in the harsh North. With her human mother in mental institutions, her father completely unknown, and a childhood full of horribly unfortunate mishaps and distrust from others due to her Tiefling blood, Sarrali grew used to the idea that her father might actually have somehow been the god of shadow, twilight, misfortune, and chaos - Vayn. After deciding to ditch civilization entirely at the ripe age of 16 with only a pewter charm of a bird in flight left by her mother to her name, Sarrali fled South to the Northern forests of Empiria with no idea how to survive on her own. She was found and taken in by an old human bounty hunter, Mordecai Swift, who taught her everything he could before he met his untimely demise at the hands of some slaver pirates when Sarrali was 18. Out for vengeance, Sarrali made the unwise decision to try and take on an entire camp of slavers on her own after finding her master’s decapitated head not too far outside the camp. She managed to take down 7 of them all on her own before she was captured. She spent a horrific month in a Port Des’Sali warehouse run by the cruel leader of the slaver pirates, a wretched dragonborn named Bodac the Blue. Sarrali survived many horrible things, including torture and receiving a mysterious brand on her right shoulder blade before she and all of the other slaves were freed when a mysterious man entered the warehouse one day, the right half of his body glowing with red flames. He proceeded to torch the place, ripping Bodac’s head clear off his body, and burning right through the cages holding the slaves. Sarrali ran away from the others and spent the next 3 years working for a morally decent smuggling ring in Port Des’Sali, recovering and steeling herself for the future. She had heard that some people believed the gods themselves might reside within The Conflict Zone, and she finally wanted to confront Vayn. Unfortunately for her, the only ones allowed within The Conflict Zone were high ranking Pathfinder guild members and other decorated soldiers. So, she had no choice but to arm herself with her master’s hunting knife, her trusty bow, and head out to Union to achieve her goals. 6 months down the line and things are going arguably well for Sarrali. She’s got people who care about whether she gets out alive at the end of the day, she’s started learning some ritual magic (including how to cast Find Familiar). She returned to her supposed birthplace, a mountain town named Overlook, in search of her mother and discovered that she has an older sister, a tiefling named Brandia.

She also discovered that she was apparently human when she was born, as was her older sister. She learned that her father apparently wasn’t Vayn, but instead a human man known as Jaxon Farseer. Someone who’s family line is millenia old. Full of heroes, legendary dragon riders, and masterful archers. Her father disappeared shortly after her birth, and her mother apparently made a deal with a tall dark man who appeared in her dreams, allowing him to give her and her children his “blessing” to ensure that Jaxon would one day be rescued. Her mother accepted, and was immediately cast into madness as her daughters were changed in ways she couldn’t imagine. Odd, Sarrali’s been seeing a tall dark man in her dreams as well recently. In fact, he keeps telling her she’ll be the one to end the world someday, and he gifted her the use of Wild Magic... Hm.

Next up is Teael of house Arren, a Half-Elf Grassland Druid 5 / Hexblade Warlock 2:

Teael is the bastard daughter of Chancellor Arren, a noble High Elf who lives down river from the Spring of Len. Teael Is an incredibly caring person, though her childhood was very lonely. Her step mother was kind, teaching her druidic magic like any of her other children, but her step sister was cruel to her and her father was rather indifferent, refusing to tell Teael anything about her birth mother. Tired of spending her life being ignored and mistreated in what was essentially a gilded cage, Teael fled her father’s estate and headed North with something to prove. Through fate or misfortune, she ended up at the same barn as Sarrali and decided to stick close to the rugged tiefling girl who seemed to know her way around a weapon a little better than she herself did.

6 months later and 24 year old Teael has sort of adopted Sarali as the little sister she never had. The two get along well and care for each other in ways they haven’t really had the chance to experience before. Teael finally has someone who will stand up for her, and Sarrali has someone who cares about how she’s really doing. Someone who wants to help her through the trauma she’s endured. Someone who cares. One of Teael’s main points of interest is that she somehow possesses the ability to summon 2 familiars at once. A grumpy large blue gecko named Nigel and a posh white Weasel named Eloise. On a rather.... improvised trip to the Shadowfell, Teael recovered the mangled body of a Drow servant who called her Lady Velodora (which also happens to be the name of the Goddess of Darkness, Death, Sleep, and the Moon... She’s also one of Vayn’s twin sisters!). After escaping the Shadowfell, Teael paid a good amount of money to have her new friend attended to by a revolutionary doctor and a high level cleric. The Drow has made a decent recovery, but is suffering from horrible amnesia. So, Teael gave him the name Vega.

He later proved himself to be a rather accomplished wizard. He lives on a plot of land owned by Teael now, and he restored a broken down wizard tower there. His favorite pastimes include listening to Teael sing for him, reading, and studying new arcane affects. He isn’t the only friend Teael’s made recently though. On a mission into Orc territory, Teael recovered a strange black rod. After a dream that the party still doesn’t really know all the details of, Teael’s got a wicked looking new quarterstaff, and seems to have made some sort of deal with a woman (entity?) named Ebony. Before we set off on our latest adventure, Teael wrote to her father for the first time since leaving his estate to boast about how fine she’s doing on her own, and is eagerly waiting to hear back from him. She’s also a complete bi-sexual disaster, but the party loves her anyways. Oh, and one last thing. She also learned that if people found out who her mother was, she’d supposedly be killed on the spot. So that’s fun!

Third up is Rhak, a Dragonborn Bear-Totem Barbarian 5 / Champion Fighter 2:

Teael and Sarrali met up with Rhak once they were already knee deep in a mission back in Union. They needed some extra muscle, and just happened to see a very stocky dragonborn writing something down in a book and petting a small kitten on their way into the sewers. His common wasn’t that good, but he seemed so happy that someone had offered him work without being mean that he decided to protect his new friends on the spot. He’s been with the group ever since. Rhak was the runt of his litter back in the Dragonborn territory of The Free Isles. Though he still exemplified the traits that the Platinum Dragon, Bahamut, tried to preach. Rhak had never really been one to turn to violence. He preferred to read and try talking through his issues with others. Unfortunately for him that meant that he was bullied mercilessly as a child. Though the kindness of a half elf woman named Lucia, a sorceress in the Free Isles seeking the wisdoms of the Platinum Dragon, inspired him to stick to his own ideals. One day, when he saw some bullies picking on a much younger runt, he accidentally let his anger get the better of him and ended up killing one of the bullies. Thus, he was exiled from his homeland at the age of 15. Forced to wander parts of the world that he was tragically unfamiliar with, places where he was seen as an oddity, and forced to live a cripplingly lonely life. Lucky for both him and us, we found each other though, and he’s finally got true friends that care deeply for him.

Though he had to leave his lovely kitten friend Steve at an orphanage in Union before we set out on a larger adventure, Rhak is going strong today. He has a bear spirit named Ursula that gives him the strength to protect his friends and keep pushing forward. After an untimely demise in the stomach of a Rhemorahz, Rahk was saved by a very close Revivify and brought back. Though, not before he got to have a nice chat with Bahamut himself. Bahamut explained to Rhak that he was Silver Prime, and that he needed to help usher in the era of The New King if the world was to be saved from calamity. We were already carrying a dragon egg with us (taken from a bunch of kobolds months ago in some old mine). But after breaking open an artifact from the Shadowfell, the egg was transformed. After reaching Sarrali’s hometown of Overlook, we learned that it was home to The Roost. The former breeding ground of Empiria’s human-allied dragons. However, The Roost had been destroyed years ago in Gaust’s uprising, and the only dragon left there now was a Silver Dragon named Orphyrah. She gave Rhak her blessing, explaining that she needed to sacrifice herself if he was supposed to reach his true potential as silver prime. She breathed all of her life essence into a single scale necklace, which Rhak now wears and can use to call upon her spirit in times of need. While at The Roost, we were able to hatch the new king of the dragons, a platinum hatchling named Justifax. Rhak has been tasked with protecting him and uniting the other primes, and he seems to be taking that duty very seriously. Only time will tell how Rhak’s destiny affects the fate of the world...

Last but certainly not least, we have Theren Greybend. A Human Knowledge Cleric 7:

Theren is the newest member of our group. We quite literally ran into him while fighting for our lives in the North recently, while on our way to Sarrali’s birthplace. Theren is a cleric of Magus, the God of Magic, Knowledge, and Secrets. The rest of the party doesn’t know too much about him yet, but we were in desperate need of a healer, and he got to witness the hatching of a new Dragon king with us, so he’s kind of stuck with us at the moment. Theren is a huge book nerd. He craves learning about any and all strange anomalies, and agreed to travel with the party on the pretense that we seem to run into stuff involving The Conflict Zone (his research specialty) a lot. We’ve basically become his latest research project, but that’s alright. He seems nice enough, and wants to help in any way that he can. Theren recently revealed that he possesses the odd ability to connect telepathically with a willing creature once a day, but who knows what else this guy can do? As far as we can tell, Theren is from one of the Western parts of Empiria, rather close to The Conflict Zone itself.

Now finally, you might be wondering: Alright, but how did all that crazy stuff start?

Well, the intro arc was far too long to append on to this post, but let’s just say that in an unfortunate mix up involving Dynamite, Sewer Zombies, and a Burning Lighthouse. Our rag tag group was pinned as prime suspects, and then later were offered a deal by this shady motherfucker -

Ekkard, the right hand man to the King of Empiria. If we could investigate those three issues for him on the down low, he wouldn’t just waive our Pathfinder application fee, he would ensure that we were accepted, and would become one of the King’s personally invested in teams. Of course, he didn’t give us much of a choice, since he told us we had a month to figure it out or face exile from Union as a cautionary action.

So, on the job to clear our names and earn our stripes, we faced down more zombies, a flesh golem, an assassin, terrorist threats, bandits, exploding zombies, a re-kindled uprising of Gaust, and finally a huge bone serpent to save the city of Union and earn our freedom.

Long story short - we succeed, and thus, Fortune’s Favor was born.

-I’m always down to talk about this campaign, so if anyone has any other questions, please don’t hesitate to send them.

@icarus-undying (Teael’s Player)

#dnd #d&d #DnD 5e #dungeons & dragons #Dungeons and Dragons

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niennandil-me-writes · 2 years

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Masterlist

in case you don't just want to scroll this blog randomly, here is a list of the OCs I write about most often, their basic backstory and all writing in (kinda) chronological order. Click on the name to get taken to their tag.

[hasn't been updated in a while]

Teo Dagger (dnd)

A former soldier and great husband and father turned horrible axe murderer thanks to a botched resurrection that left him devoid of emotion.

common content notes: gore, violence (often romanticized or consensual)

a promise kept last moments owed a life make your own version of the story (non-canon) Poetry without Emotion gore without plot (non-canon) This isn’t the first time you die but that’s fine, it’s not the first time I kill someone either touch nothing is worse foregone conclusion long rest among the wicked (non-canon) try to hide but i see you untitled snippet tearing open old wounds the red means i love you giving up control a death taken (non-canon)

Ulysse Moreau (Heart - The City Beneath)

A Drow Junkmage blackmailed by a noble Aelfir called Smiles-Cast-In-Silver to venture into the Heart under his identity to do his penitence there.

common content notes: drowning

mask on, mouth shut in all my dreams I drown kiss of the sleepwalking witch/kiss of the drowned queen

Wilhelmina Twist (dnd)

A tiefling who grew up under high expectations with neglectful parents. Her anxiety-fueled Thaumaturgy constantly clouds her face in shadows. She made a warlock pact for good grades.

walk beneath the stars

Ròn (Thirsty Sword Lesbians)

A selkie who reclaimed her sealskin from the man who stole it and ran away to join a pirate crew.

common content notes: abuse

She thinks of swimming away the mermaid and the selkie a mermaid’s pleasure

Ash (like from Fire) (dnd)

Searching for their twin sibling who was stolen away by a powerful Archfey, they wander through the Feywild, and lost quite a lot of themself along the way.

ace up their sleeve

Teo Dagger (Mörk Borg)

In some ways similar to his dnd version, but a lot more wet dog flavored. It's not clear if he's actually undead or just has a very curious case of rabies.

common content notes: gore, violence, cannibalism

this day started with our crucifixion and went on with a zombie fight and a death game and the worst part is still that i’m sleeping in the same room as you

#masterlist #my writing #oc writing #dnd writing

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snatent · 6 years

Text

Wurzt Day Ever

As Bratwurzt McRib awoke one morning from uneasy dreams they found themself transformed in their bed into a giant fuckboy.

On a typical day, this would have been cause for celebration. Brat always felt more comfortable, more natural in their flatter and more angular body. And when the frame lined up, so did everything else in quick succession: posture, gait, self-image, mood. Right in a row, like dominos. Brat was freer this way. You didn’t have to worry about how you carried yourself if there was nothing on your chest to carry.

The catch was no one ever wanted to see them like this. At House McRib, it was the high priestess Amburrla the people wanted: fuller lips, curved hips, trademark glances poisoned with spite. Smug sneers, flared nostrils, arched eyebrows out for blood: all traits not only lauded but expected of Brat should they ever want to be seen on a given day. Looking down at the body they had to work with this morning, Brat realized today was not that day.

And that would have been fine, if House McRib hadn’t been preparing for months to receive a particularly important caravan of merchants and adventurers this very afternoon.

“Lady Amburrla?” came the sing-song call of her lady-in-waiting. It was her incessant knocking that had wrested Brat from their dreams. “We ought to dress you soon, before our guests arrive.”

“Gimme a minute,” Bratwurzt snapped. Then, realizing their mistake, they took a deep breath and tried again. This time, in a clearer, more refined voice:

“My dear, it seems I’ve fallen ill today.”

There was a marked pause from the voice at the door.

“Again?” came the voice. “That’s the third time this week.”

“There must be something going around,” sang the alluring voice of Amburrla. “You really should stay away. I wouldn’t want you to catch it, darling.”

When Brat spoke like this, they could weave words into the air like they belonged there. People came for miles just to hear the priestess speak. Amburrla had many friends. Brat had none.

“Suck it up,” came the terse reply. “If you are unable to receive guests for a third day in a row, Selex fears the legitimacy of our organization may be called into question.”

Brat could feel their nails digging into the sides of their palms. With gritted teeth, they managed to force the corners of their mouth upwards. No one was watching, but Brat always found it easier to center themself as Amburrla if they started with a smile.

“Let me dress myself as much as I can,” said Bratwurzt sweetly. “The less of me you touch the better while I am feeling this way.”

“Make it quick,” was the reply. “Selex is anxious to see you.”

“I’ll bet he is,” Brat muttered under their breath. Of all the drow in this back-asswards organization, Brat liked Selex the least. He was large for a male, and scary. His scarred mouth was always folded into a permanent sneer. Most drow soldiers wore a sourpuss as a permanent feature. For them Brat harbored somewhere between pity and contempt. But Selex’s face only inspired fear and unease.

It was Selex who had found Brat, Selex who had put a roof over their head, Selex who had roped them into this operation in the first place. At House McRib, everyone had a job, and Bratwurzt’s was to keep people from finding out about their terrible secret.

And what a secret it was: there was no House McRib. There never was a House McRib. The tiny palace they had found hidden past acres and acres of thick mushroom jungle had been abandoned for a thousand years- just long enough for people to have forgotten about it- before Selex had discovered it, taken it over, and turned it into his primary base of operations. Operations, Brat had learned soon after, was just a fancy way of saying criminal activity.

Selex needed Brat to entertain, to sneer at soldiers from other houses and, occasionally, to spit in their faces while they begged for their lives. These were all things Brat loved to do, especially because no one in the house could do them better. But Bratwurzt couldn’t take pleasure in the part if it wasn’t convincing.

Brat had developed some tricks for faking it while at school, back when they were still hiding their shape-shifting body from their mother, Matron Styx Lv’Arden. Bratwurzt had been able to keep up that charade for decades; one night would be a cakewalk.

First, the stuffing. Brat grabbed everything soft and malleable they could find: cloths and small scraps of fabric. They stuffed their undershirt, taking great care to check the mirror after every new item. Brat scowled, rummaging around in their chest until they were satisfied. Several pieces of cloth were scratching up against their skin in the worst way.

“The price of beauty,” they said darkly.

Next: The contour. There was makeup in their vanity, an antique Selex had found and given to them. Most of the furniture had come from Selex, in the hope that living the part of a pampered priestess would keep Bratwurzt good at playing it.

The makeup selection was exquisite as well. House McRib imported only the finest colors and pastes imaginable, the kind the ancient matrons in Menzoberranzan used to paint over their wrinkles. Brat used it in every spot they could think of, contouring not only their jaw and cheekbones but their chest as well.

When Brat was satisfied with what they saw in the mirror, they topped off their face with a fresh coating of jet black lipstick. The face looking back at them was hardly recognizable, but they didn’t have time to appreciate their work. The banging on their door grew louder by the moment.

Satisfied with their face, Bratwurzt finally opened the door. Their lady-in-waiting was furious, impatient, a mess of crossed arms and tapping toes.

“Riddell,” said Brat as Amburrla. “So sorry to keep you waiting.”

The stout drow woman wasted no time getting to work. “You look fine to me,” she snapped.

“Fine?” drawled Bratwurzt. “I didn’t know you felt that way, darling.”

“I’d wipe that smirk off your face,” said Riddell as she forced Brat’s arms out to their sides and began throwing a dress over the poor drow’s frame. “I have a mind to tell Selex you’re more trouble than you’re worth.”

Brat stiffened. A tilt of the head, a clench of the jaw, a sharp inhale. That’s all it took to get Riddell to stop, mid-button, under the piercing gaze of Brat’s red eyes.

“You think you could do better?”

The lady-in-waiting exhaled, recollected herself, and went back to dressing Brat. “Certainly not,” she said. “But if Selex ran into you on the street he could probably find someone worth five times as much if he actually went looking.”

Brat relaxed and let the woman do her work. They shut their eyes as Riddell laced up the boning of the dress and tugged tighter and tighter and tighter until Brat was sure she was doing it on purpose.

Finally Riddell patted Brat on the back and shoved them toward the mirror. “Have a look,” she said.

Brat stared at themself in the mirror, a small smirk on their lips. They didn’t look half bad, although it was a cheap imitation of the real thing. They cupped their breasts with their hands, trying their best to adjust them. Riddell shut her eyes in disgust, mistaking Brat’s concern for some kind of rude gesture.

“Hurry on downstairs then,” said Riddell. “Best not to keep Selex waiting.”

With a nod Bratwurzt made their way downstairs to the main hall where Selex stood in all his surly glory.

When Bratwurzt noticed no one else was around, their entire existence seemed to change. Their posture relaxed. Their face softened. Their voice, as melodic and enrapturing as it was, roughened up with Bratwurzt’s own authentic affectations.

“Selex,” said Bratwurzt in their own, rougher voice. “Has anyone told you that you are lookin’ especially irate today?”

Selex’s mouth opened to bare his teeth. “You are late,” he snarled. “And your behavior is as regrettable as your punctuality. I made you a priestess of House McRib. The least you could do is act like one.”

“Relax,” said Brat with a grin. “I cleaned up nice, didn’t I?”

Selex raised an eyebrow. “You look smaller.”

Brat fidgeted, causing a piece of their stuffing to scratch them in the chest. “Merely the cut of the dress, dear Selex.”

“As long as you are ready, then I shall call our guests to the hall.”

“I shall be eager to receive them,” said Brat with a teaspoon of sarcasm. Then, after a slight hesitation, “Now would you please remind me as to why this particular group of junksellers is so important?”

Selex pinched the bridge of his nose and shut his eyes. This was neither the first nor even the fifth time he had explained this to Bratwurzt.

“We are looking for more groups to take care of our work for us. Free agents, who will not be stopped or suspected by drow of other houses. Three are coming, and we must decide which of them to employ.”

Selex’s House McRib was in the business of smuggling. He took displaced drow from downstairs and moved them up. It seemed like a noble thing to do until you realized how much Selex charged. Those who couldn’t afford it, which was everyone, ended up indebted to House McRib for life. Bratwurzt wondered how much of a new life drow had upstairs, answering the call of the debt collector every five tendays.

“Listen well Lady Amburrla,” Selex said in a low growl. He opened his eyes again. They were wild, bloodthirsty, and focused right on Bratwurzt.

"If you cannot prove to me I did not make a mistake in bringing you here, I will dump you right back on the street on which you were found. In worse condition than you were then.”

Bratwurzt’s posture faltered a bit, but they maintained it as best they could. With a few short breaths, they were able to find solid footing on their own two legs. They even managed a small, sick sort of smile.

“In the thirty years we’ve worked together,” said Brat, “have I disappointed you once?”

“No,” said Selex. Brat exhaled.

“You’ve disappointed me hundreds of times. Now go.”

Bratwurzt grimaced at him but rushed to take their place in the main hall: the throne of House McRib. The throne stood at the end of the very long hall on a raised platform that suggested just enough fanfare: not so much as to invite the idea of frivolity, but enough to command respect.

Brat hated sitting on it more than any other surface in the palace. It was hard and cold, because some moron had made it out of shit metal instead of out of something nice, like velvet. When Brat had lived at the Palace of House Lv’Arden, they jumped at every chance to try out that seat. Bratwurzt thought their mother sat on the most beautiful throne in all the world, and when no one was looking they would climb up on it and imagine what it would be like to belong there someday. House Lv’Arden’s throne was an intricate trellis, where moss and fungi had been sown in every nook and cranny. Life had completely overtaken the chair, pillowy mushroom caps cushioning the sitter in all the right places. McRib’s trash chair couldn’t hold a candle to the trellis throne of House Lv’Arden. It could barely even hold an ass, Brat thought as they shifted uncomfortably in it.

Selex had left, presumably to usher in their guests. Bratwurzt leaned on one of the armrests of the throne, resting their cheek against their hand. Their expression heralded a blend of annoyance and disinterest, the so-called Resting Drow Face.

In a moment the doors swung open, and Brat found themself taking a mental inventory of the group walking in. Selex was first, trying (and failing) to be pleasant. McRib’s wizard Fitlei came in after him, a slender drow with an uncertain aura. He was excited, wound-up, wildly gesticulating to the duergar beside him. The armored dwarf, one of the merchants no doubt, was nodding sagely after every sentence.

They had a tiefling with them, a woman with jet black hair and dark blue skin. She was dressed the way Brat pictured the adventurers of the tales: high boots and scrappy clothing, and a long cutlass at her hip. The tiefling’s yellow eyes followed Fitlei’s every move, although from her dubious look and crossed arms Brat could tell she was appraising his intent more than his words. She didn’t have to; Fitlei didn’t have it in him to be deceptive and excited at the same time.

The last to enter was another drow, a stranger, who was decidedly not from House McRib.

Brat first noticed that he was tall- the tallest member in the group by half a foot. Then he noticed the grace. The posture. The way in which this tall drow carried himself, like a willow tree, and when he moved the strands of his long hair seemed to flow with him like water.

Where the other merchants wore practical gear - leathers and furs and armor - this drow wore one of the most infuriating articles of clothing Bratwurzt had ever seen. His robe was yellow and red and not so much covering him as it was draped over him, the way you would drape a throw over a couch before inviting someone to lie on it with you. The robe looked like it was covered in something. What, Brat could not tell from where they were sitting.

In spite of themself Brat leaned forward and squinted for a better view, ruining the disinterested facade they had worked so hard to maintain. Brat studied the strange lines running up and down along the edges of the robe. Were they...zippers? For pockets? On a robe?

Brat’s train of thought was cut short as the robed drow noticed he was being watched. He caught Brat’s gaze for an instant, and before Brat had the sense to save face and look away he winked.

Flushing, Brat jerked their head to look at something, anything else.

With the entire group inside the room, Selex shut the door behind them. Fitlei snapped to attention, his spine straightening out like someone had grabbed him by a string on the top of his head.

“Lady Amburrla, permission to approach?”

Brat leaned back in their seat again. They gestured carelessly with their hand and called out, “proceed.”

Fitlei led the party forward, Selex bringing up the rear. Brat tried to keep their eyes facing the group while also making it abundantly clear to the robed drow that they had not been staring at him, and he was not to wink at them again. No matter where they looked, they couldn’t shake the sense that he was watching. That he knew.

Brat’s eyes found the tiefling and focused on her movements: measured and confident. Her tail flicked every ten or so steps, and Brat tried to remember if that meant something the way it did with cats. They would never know; a drow priestess would never care enough to ask.

“My lady Amburrla,” Fitlei repeated again, when he had gotten closer. “It is my pleasure to present our guests for the evening.”

Brat shifted in their seat to counteract a wedgie and passed it off as feigning interest.

“Gurrgol Rhinefist.”

The duergar stepped forward and bowed stiffly, with his feet together.

“Prudence Apropos.”

The tiefling stepped forward and offered a clumsy curtsey. The cutlass at her side banged against her leg. Brat could tell someone had taught her how to do it in the five minutes they had before walking in.

“Alolo.”

The drow, in one fluid motion, leaned forward, extended his front leg, bent his back one, and bowed so low that his robe hung wide open and exposed his chest. When he looked up he grinned, no doubt noticing that Brat’s jaw was hanging open.

“Alolo,” Bratwurzt repeated, making zero effort to hide the incredulity in their voice. They could see the disapproving glare of Selex from the corner of their eye.

“Yes, my lady,” said Fitlei, fidgeting where he stood.

“Alolo what,” they blurted.

“It is simply Alolo,” was the robed drow’s reply as he bowed again, much more restrained than the previous time, thank Lolth. “If it please Your Superiority.”

Brat’s mouth twitched at the title. They had heard many a brown-nosing drow use the same on their mother. Each time, it had had the same effect: bad. Perhaps it was time to use one of their mother’s old moves. Perhaps it was time to make this one squirm.

“It does not.” Bratwurzt raised their chin and glared down at the offender. If it had any effect on Alolo, it didn’t show on his face. Then again, the trick did work better when the object of Brat’s intimidation was at least a foot shorter.

“Then I shall choose a name if it should satisfy you,” said Alolo with the same smile Brat had seen on his face when he’d caught them staring. “One at random.” He raised a long finger to his chin and looked up as if in thought. “Let me see...Which was the last house I visited? One in Menzoberranzan. Yes, that’s right.”

His lilac eyes locked onto Brat. “Lv’Arden.”

The three syllables delivered one swift punch to Brat’s gut. With no air left to fall back on, Bratwurzt’s voice rose one oxygen-deprived octave.

“A long way if I’m not mistaken,” said Bratwurzt McRib. “I’ve never been.”

Alolo’s countenance never betrayed even an inkling of the intent lurking underneath.

“Perhaps someday,” he said, “I will take you there.”

Bratwurzt stiffened. From either side of the throne they could see Fitlei and Selex, both equal parts confused and concerned, exchanging glances and subtle hand gestures that held more meaning than just expressing their discomfort. But seeing them reminded Brat of the entire reason the three of these strangers had entered their house in the first place.

“That shall have to wait,” they said, forcing a lighter expression, “until after our transaction is complete.”

At this Gurrgol and Prudence perked up. It was unclear how long either had known Alolo, but from how uncomfortable he had made them by speaking so candidly to a drow priestess, Brat guessed it wasn’t long.

“The job,” grunted Gurrgol, bowing his head as though the mere gesture could excuse his companion’s world of insolence. “Please, tell us more.”

“It is to be a delivery,” said Bratwurzt. “Upstairs.”

Every time Bratwurzt so much as uttered the word to potential hires, they would look at each other with open astonishment. Brat had never been above ground, but from the apprehension they’d always gotten from suggesting the task, they knew they never wanted to go.

True to form, Gurrgol and Prudence looked across the way at each other. Alolo did not react. Brat suppressed a snort. Did he not know about Upstairs?

“And the cargo?” asked Prudence. It was a fair question, but one House McRib did not intend to answer.

“Confidential,” Bratwurzt said. “You’ll find the pay reflects this.”

That had struck a chord with Alolo. “We can’t know what it is, but you want us to bring it Upstairs?”

“I’d understand if you aren’t up to the task,” Bratwurzt said, pointing their gaze on him. “We don’t require three for this job. I would imagine the tiefling and duergar are better equipped than you to handle the fire in the sky.”

At this, Alolo raised a hand to his mouth and let out a delicate laugh.

“My Lady Amburrla, what kind of professional isn’t equipped to handle sunlight?” he asked. “Did you bring me all this way just to tell me you have no faith in me?”

Brat seethed. This wasn’t how this sort of exchange was supposed to go. The Lady Amburrla was supposed to sit and scowl and glare, bark orders, and maybe even spit on someone. No one dared raise their eyes or their wits to a priestess of Lolth. The penalty for either was death.

Alolo had done both, but to show frustration was to admit that he had touched a nerve. How much did Alolo know about Brat’s connection with House Lv’Arden? Enough to worry Selex? Enough to get Brat booted back onto the streets of Menzoberranzan? They wouldn’t let that happen.

Bratwurzt swore to themself. None of this would have happened if they’d just woken up the right way this morning. Maybe a skilled performer could have pulled it off, but without the authenticity of their body Bratwurzt was a hack.

With every quip The Lady Amburrla’s credibility grew weaker and weaker. If Brat did not gain the high ground soon, they were finished. But how to get higher than a drow who defied convention, height and all?

Bratwurzt drew themself up in pleasantry. “Of course you are here for a reason. Forgive me, Alolo, for my rudeness. I don’t know what’s come over me.”

“Hunger, perhaps?” Alolo offered. “I’ve always maintained one shouldn’t talk business on an empty stomach. There’s no need for negotiations to be so ugly.”

“Of course!!” cried Fitlei, as though Alolo had suddenly triggered the function of his voice. “Yes, we have prepared an excellent spread for dinner, with the expectation that you shall be joining us.”

Selex, eager to end the conversation, stepped forward. “Fitlei will lead you to the dining hall now.” He waved his hand and Fitlei jumped, all but propelling himself toward the doorway. The guests turned to follow him out, but Alolo remained.

“Surely Lady Amburrla is coming with us,” he said.

Selex stepped forward to intercede, but Bratwurzt stood and held out their arms. On top of the raised platform that housed the throne, Bratwurzt still felt taller than Alolo. On two feet, Bratwurzt felt more grounded than they had in ages. Their grace returned to them as blood resumed its flow down their legs.

“If that is what my guests desire. I shall return to you shortly.” Brat dismissed him with a wave of their hand and waited until they heard the door open and close behind the group to collapse in the unforgiving chair.

“What was that about.” It was not a question.

“He mentioned Lv’Arden,” said Bratwurzt, discarding their priestess voice like a heavy cloak. “I just got nervous is all.”

Selex approached the throne, an action he took only when he was certain no one else was around. He leaned over Bratwurzt, grabbed them by the front of the dress, and tugged.

Brat was jerked upward, their face nearly touching the marred visage of Selex. His scowl was so close that Brat could feel the rage radiating from his skin. Maybe that was his breath. Brat didn’t think he brushed.

“If that swordseller wants to bring you back to Lv’Arden, I won’t stop him,” he growled. “I’m sure your mother would be delighted to see you again.”

Brat grimaced as Selex’s breath assaulted their nose. “She wouldn’t,” they said. Selex’s glare did not soften, but after thirty years it was beginning to lose its edge. “Let go of me. You smell and you’re ruining my dress.”

Truth be told, Bratwurzt had spent the last thirty seconds hoping Selex hadn’t ruined their intricately-placed boob stuffing. Knowing the way their luck was going today, however, he definitely had.

Selex released his grip on Brat’s dress, dropping them back on the iron throne with a cold thud. He turned to exit the room.

“Collect yourself and join us in the banquet hall,” he demanded. His voice echoed through the empty hall as he pulled open the door, exited, and slammed it shut.

Alone at last, Bratwurzt McRib took their sweet time getting up from the throne. Sure it was an uncomfortable seat, but given the circumstances of the moment, existing in any position was uncomfortable.

The thought of each new threat only magnified their predicament: Alolo, Selex, their mother Styx. They began to whine. Brat wondered how soundproof the main hall was for a brief moment before deciding they didn’t care.

After several minutes, Brat stopped their noisemaking and shut their eyes tight, rubbing their temples. They were drained, exhausted, and they hadn’t even been out of their bedroom for more than forty minutes.

The thought made them open their mouth to whine a second time.

“Such an unbecoming noise for a priestess of Lolth.”

Brat shot up in their seat. They opened their eyes so fast they had to rub them several times just to be sure of what they saw: the robed drow, standing over him, one hand on his hip.

“And for spider’s sake, if you’re going to play a priestess, at least sit like one.”

Bratwurzt snapped back into position, sitting on the throne as though they were about to redo the whole scene again, from Fitlei leading the party through the front door.

“How much did you see?” asked Brat, hiding behind Amburrla’s voice like a shield.

“Enough that you don’t have to continue that miserable charade,” said Alolo. He ended the sentence with a small, melodic laugh, a refrain of pity and amusement.

“Who sent you?” Brat asked in a low voice, still unsure of which part of the act to drop.

Before they knew it, Alolo was lifting himself up to sit on the arm of the throne and leaning in close. Brat flinched, but they did notice Alolo smelled much nicer than Selex ever had.

“Nobody sends me anywhere,” said the merchant. “I come and go as I please.”

“So you’re not really from House Lv’Arden.” Her Dominance Matron Styx would never have allowed one of her agents to say such a thing, even in deception.

Alolo stretched his arm around the back of the throne, which allowed him to both secure his balance and throw Brat off theirs. “Got to you, didn’t I? So I am right.”

Brat gripped the edges of their seat, looking desperately for an escape plan should the need arise. But the other drow had gotten close; there was nothing for Brat to look at but Alolo.

“How did you know?” they asked.

“Her Dominance announced the death of her heir in the same month that this dusty old palace started to show up on the trade circuit,” said Alolo. “Any idiot could figure it out.”

Brat looked down.

“But Matron Styx’s heir was a real priestess,” continued Alolo. “Not a hack in lazy drag.” He patted one of the saggy lumps on Brat’s chest and smirked when he felt cloth.

Brat’s hands shot up on their own and grabbed Alolo by the wrists.

“Get your hands off me,” they growled.

Bratwurzt wasn’t in the business of violence, just lying and swindling. They stared at their hands gripped tightly around Alolo’s wrists, trying to think of something particularly menacing to say.

“No one’s watching,” whispered Alolo. “You can get as rough as you like.”

Brat flushed and recoiled, dropping the man’s hands as he turned to face the back of the throne.

“You clearly have something you need to get off your chest.”

Bratwurzt refused to dignify the joke with a laugh. Fortunately, Alolo seemed satisfied enough just keeping himself entertained.

“What do you want?” asked Brat.

Alolo smiled, knowing he was about to get whatever that was.

“For now, the truth.” The robed drow leaned away, giving Bratwurzt just enough space to take deeper breaths. “We’ll start with your name.”

“Amburrla McRib of House McR-”

“The name your mother gave you,” interrupted Alolo.

Brat's body hardened like steel. “Doesn’t matter,” they said. “That name is dead.”

Bratwurzt thought they could see Alolo’s face cloud with genuine sympathy, but only for a second. Like adding a tiny lump of flour to a hot liquid and whisking it until it dissolves.

“I see,” he said. “Then what do you call yourself?”

Bratwurzt blinked. Everyone involved at House McRib knew Amburrla was merely an invention, but they never cared to pry further than that. No one cared to get to know the drow behind the facade, stonewalling and ignoring Bratwurzt’s identity like it did not exist.

But this visitor had asked about it.

“Bratwurzt McRib.”

“Like the sausage, ” said Alolo. “How...fitting.”

Bratwurzt huffed. “I thought it was clever until I woke up one morning to find I didn't have one again.”

“Quite inconvenient you didn't wake up that way this morning, given the circumstances.”

“I did my best,” retorted Brat. “I tried real hard to think as many girly thoughts as I could before bed.”

Alolo's eyes widened with mock interest. He drew in closer again, but Brat found they didn’t mind so much. “Girly thoughts? And what would those be?”

“You know,” said Bratwurzt. “Superiority. Murder. Stepping on a soldier while I'm in stilettos.”

Alolo let out a real laugh this time. It was the first noise he’d made that hadn’t felt calculated.

A smile spread over Brat’s face; they’d made him laugh. It wasn’t the way they’d intended to disarm their guest, but Brat would’ve taken anything at this point.

“A shame that didn't work out,” said Alolo, regaining his composure. “Or else maybe I wouldn't be here threatening you.”

Bratwurzt's eyes flicked up to meet the other drow’s lilac gaze. “Be doing what now?”

Alolo walked his fingers up the bare skin on Brat's forearm. Each tiny hair he touched stood on end, sending shivers through Brat's body.

“What did you think we were doing here, Bratwurzt?”

Now was not the time to savor the ring of their own name in their ears, in someone else's voice- in his voice. Now was not the time to focus on how sharp the t sounded coming from his mouth, how he danced over the z to get there. Now was not the time to realize for all the fun it was to say, the name “Bratwurzt” was so much more fun to hear from someone else.

Bratwurzt did these things anyway.

“I thought we were having a nice time,” they said, steadying their voice enough to mask the unease.

“I can’t do both?,” asked Alolo. He stood up then, making his way to the bottom of the throne platform. “Listen, Bratwurzt. I can get a lot of money for returning House Lv’Arden’s lost pet.”

Bratwurzt stood. “You’ll do no such thing.”

Alolo missed the murderous look on their face; he was more interested in his fingernails.

Bratwurzt fumed in their place. It was one thing to be teased and humiliated and undermined in front of people who were already feigning respect for them. Brat would’ve taken as much public torture from Alolo as he was ready to dish out.

But the constant allusions to their old family, their biological mother, had to stop. Bratwurzt had worked far too hard and for way too long to let one meddling merchant force them from their hard-earned freedom.

Alolo let out a very long, very deliberate sigh. “I expected better out of someone with your pedigree.”

A surge of rage split Bratwurzt’s head in two as they lunged for Alolo. Their hands met the front of his robe, and they held him in place with a grip like iron.

Alolo’s face was very close again, but it was Brat who had closed the space between them. The words that came out of their mouth were low and guttural but unmistakably Amburrla’s:

“Compare me to that accursed house one more time and you’ll find yourself wishing you stayed there.”

It was funny how potent anger was. Bratwurzt hadn’t been able to look Alolo in the eye for more than a handful of seconds, but now their glare held Alolo in place as firmly as one of Fitlei’s spells.

Alolo looked almost stunned, his mouth open but not exactly agape. He blinked several times before his lips curved into a wry smile. Slowly his hands reached up to grasp Bratwurzt’s.

“So you can still act the part.”

Bratwurzt scowled and let go of Alolo’s robe, but the other drow would not release his grip on their hands.

“You put a little bit more of that into your work, and you might just make it out of this mess alive,” he purred.

“If you don’t let go of me, I will kick you in the nuts,” Bratwurzt spat.

“Styx just would have done it.”

With a sharp inhale, Bratwurzt thrust their left knee upward. Before it could make contact with anything, they felt themself hurling back until their behind met the hard seat of the McRib throne.

“But neither of you could land a hit on me,” Alolo concluded.

Every time he smiled, Bratwurzt couldn’t help but fantasize about using their dagger to rearrange the features on his handsome face. But if they couldn’t touch him…

“If I scream, every soldier in House McRib will swarm this room,” they spat. “Selex will be the first in line to cut you down.”

“No, we’ll leave them out of this,” Alolo said at once, as though it was for him to decide.

Bratwurzt opened their mouth to call for help, but Alolo was on them in an instant, covering it with his long sleeve. Bratwurzt struggled underneath him, their screams muffled into little more than grunts. They grabbed onto Alolo’s arm to remove it, but they could do nothing.

“I have no business getting involved with the familial squabbles of House Lv’Arden,” Alolo said hurriedly. “I’m not going to tell.”

Bratwurzt stopped their struggling, but their narrowed eyes betrayed their distrust.

“In return,” said the robed drow, “I need something from you.”

Brat was powerless without the ability to speak; all they could do now was listen.

“I want a favor.”

Bratwurzt tried again to speak into the drow’s sleeve. It came out as another wordless cry, but Alolo took it for a question.

His smile sweetened. “I haven’t thought of it yet. You don’t have to worry, Bratwurzt. I won’t ask for anything you can’t give me.”

Brat tried tugging at Alolo’s arm again to get him to remove it from their mouth. This time his blackmailer obliged, and they allowed themselves several deep breaths before continuing.

“So I’m just writing you a blank check that you’re gonna come and cash in. When, exactly?”

“Who knows?” was the reply. “It could be decades, Brat. But the moment I know what to ask for, I’ll be back.”

Alolo’s expression soured for a moment before he continued.

“And don’t go getting yourself caught and executed before then. It’ll only complicate things for when I do have to collect. The best thing you can do is put your years at Arach-Tinilith to good use.”

Alolo had guessed correctly that Bratwurzt had studied the ways of a priestess of Lolth at the academy in Menzoberranzan. Alolo had also guessed correctly that Bratwurzt had resisted every temptation to embody the horrific tenets of Lolth’s demands.

“Enunciation is your friend, Bratwurzt. What good are your words if I can’t feel them crawling up my spine?”

Brat opened their mouth to say something but thought better of it. How could you make words crawl up someone’s spine?

“But you are trying,” said Alolo. “I’ll give you that.” He took Bratwurzt’s head in his hands. “You’ll just have to do better so you don’t get found out again. Remember, you owe me.”

The way Alolo’s voice curled around those last few words send shivers dancing up Bratwurzt’s spine, and all at once they knew what they’d been doing wrong.

As Amburrla, Bratwurzt sneered. “If someone like you walks through that door again, I’ll be more prepared this time.”

Alolo laughed once. “Honey, there is no one like me.” He released Bratwurzt’s head then and turned to head toward the door.

Bratwurzt waited several minutes before sending for Selex. The captain of McRib’s guard entered, more annoyed that Bratwurzt still had not joined the dinner party.

“As a high priestess of House McRib, this is my decision,” decreed Amburrla. “We shall send all three to the surface. When they get there, the dwarf and tiefling are to kill the drow.”

Selex considered the priestess’s words for a moment. Bratwurzt had never before displayed an interest in the “family business” beyond their own responsibilities. But he could not deny that it was their right. And if it forced Bratwurzt into this expected state of drow aggression, the best he could do was encourage it.

“It shall be done,” he said, barely hiding his smile.

Six tendays later, a messenger delivered a package containing only the cutlass of a tiefling swashbuckler. It was addressed to “McRib’s Brat of a Priestess.”

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critidiots · 7 years

Text

The Journey of the Critidiots- Chapter 1: Getting to know you.

https://critidiots.tumblr.com/idiots

Far to the north isolated from the rest of the world and the war of the gods exists a city that has no name ruled by a man who shares the same trait. It is there in this city that our heroes start their Journey.

The City, a land locked and isolated bastion, has a special connection to the empires of men and elves whose capitals exist far to the south, and a part of that connection is dealt with in the way of supplies. Massive convoys or supply trains of resources are carted up from those two great cities once a month to assist in making sure the City has all that it needs and the people living there can stay connected with the people they left behind.

The last two convoys have not arrived.

It is the end of the second week of the month, the air feels chilled with the oncoming approach of fall, and once again the people of The City cluster into the trade district of the south en mass awaiting for the arrival of the supplies. Some are there waiting for letters from loved ones from afar, merchants gather waiting for their stock and special orders to be filled, representatives of The City are there waiting to take in stocks of emergency winter clothes and foods to add to the storage for the coming cold season, and others await the chance to make some coin by assisting with the unloading of the cargo.

It is here our players wait with the rest of The City, anxious for it’s arrival.

While the players make their way among the crowd waiting for the caravan to arrive there is a heavy taste of anxiety in the air. Hours pass. The convoy never arrives. Slowly the people begin to spread themselves out; the crowd begins to thin as people give up hope and return to their normal lives. Rumors begin to circulate among the people that The Mayor is attempting to hire adventurers to go south into the forest to discover what they can about supply trains, and that there have been couriers journeying south who haven’t returned.

Kvothe, the Oread Monk, hearing the rumors and getting a good idea of what is going on quietly slipped away from the crowd. He headed north towards the Judicial building, stopping to take a small visit at a tavern where he had once worked as a cook and server. The owner, a fair friend of Kvothe’s informs him that he is worried that without the materials the supply caravans were carrying he would run out of what he needed to make his alcohol. Which helped solidify Kvothe’s decision to go to the Mayor and see how he can help, and how the pay was.

Spliff the homeless wizard currently squatting in the Fallen Tower alongside Kizzengulp, the Mayor’s Adviser of the Arcane wasn’t paying enough attention to catch the rumors and decided that he would instead go out in the streets with his spells and attempt to make some coin for his meal. Managing to suck at that fairly hard at that he managed to raise little more than a handful of copper.

Griff, the Fetchling summoner, was beginning to feel claustrophobic being in The City for so long, and spotted the Drow in the crowd. He worked his way over and introduced himself.

Griif: Hey, you look like an adventurer, I’m Griff!

Zyn: I was an adventurer in the past, but I’m currently in the service of The Mayor. However, if you are looking for an adventure, I can tell you that The Mayor is looking for someone to look into the missing supply trains. I’m going to enlist, if you want to come with me I can lead you to it.

Griff: I’ll sign up for that.

Aybara the Barbarian who wanted to know if the convoy had any intel on the orcs activity in the area to maybe find the tribe that slaughtered his clan asked around to see what was going to be done about the lack of convoy. Once he heard The Mayor was looking for people to investigate he headed off towards the center of The City alone.

Burz noticed and sensed Zyian’s aura of good, and in finding a kindred spirit went to him asking if there was anything he planned to do about the incident. Zyian suggested that the two of them visit his mother at her manor, a political envoy from Embran the Elven capital, she would be one of the few people to have a direct audience with The Mayor. The two paladins find out from Zyian’s mother what the other’s had already known. Zyian informs her of his intent to help and they share a moment nice moment of mother and son before he heads out with Burrz to the judicial building.

The others were just walking through the door to the building where they had all arrived at roughly the same time.

They were greeted by a male elf sitting at a desk working away diligently at some calculations with: long blonde hair, wearing white robes tied at the waist with black twine, overweight with a stomach that hangs a bit but with corded muscular arms that twitch as he moves them about his papers. Behind him is a elven great axe hanging from a plaque on the wall that is clearly magical.

After introductions and discovering that the grouped wished to see The Mayor about the caravan, the elf now introduced as Sindaria Wrothchild went to lead them through the judicial building.

The building was massive, even more so then the religious temples in the city with high vaulted ceilings. As Sindaria leads the four players through they notice many of the elves and dwarfs and other long lived races who worked in the building all in their own little cubicles have weapons mounted as well. They cross over a small foot bridge that leads over the river that bisects the building and are led to a spiral staircase heading upstairs.

Along the way Zyn and Sindaria have share some small talk. Zyn was curious if it was his commander, Erik Frault, the man who runs the Garrison who was controlling the search parties but Sindaria explains that The Mayor is handling himself and leaving the defense of The City to Erik. At the top of the stairs Sindaria stops them all and addresses the group.

Sindaria: I’d like to warn you all, except Zyn of course. The Mayor can be overwhelming when you first meet him. I promise the feeling will pass, just brace yourself.

He informed them with a gentle smile. He opens the plain door at the top of the stairs and the dark hallway they were in becomes flooded with light from the well lit room.

As they walk into the light filled room they were hit with a super natural warmth that begins spreading throughout their muscles and bones taking the strength away from them. Save for Griff who specifically felt the heat burn slightly, not enough to hurt, but it was there.

Once the heat hits the party they are able to see The Mayor, who sits behind a large unadorned mahogany desk. He is described as a larger than life human, easily over eight feet tall and thick with dark black skin and a head that his shaved bald. Wearing a noble’s set of clothes in black and gold. As he looks past the party to Sindaria they all catch a glimpse of his eyes that are pools of liquid gold.

Several of the players, once the staggering light has passed, noticed that there were no torches in the room nor any windows. The room was being illuminated by The Mayor’s presence itself.

The Mayor: Thank you Sindaria, please continue your good work.

He then turned to the party members.

The Mayor: Please, take a seat.

He asked them in his strong, commanding baritone. As he waved his massive hand chairs grew up out of the ground for each of the four players for them to sit in.

At first some tried to resist but they quickly found themselves compelled to sit.

The Mayor: Sindaria informs me that you are all here about the missing supply caravan.

While this conversation is happening Zyian and Burrz arrive.

Zyian: Burz, I know my way around here quiet well and the people who work here so please allow me to take the lead.

Burz: That’s fine with me, do you think we should find a member of the staff so we don’t just look like two strangers walking around the building.

Zian: Oh there should be someone there to meet us.

The two walk into the empty room where Sindaria had been before. Despite the momentary embarrassment the two discuss their options. Eventually deciding to head into the main chamber and hopefully run into the Elf Secretary along the way.

They do at the bridge over the river that cuts through the building. They exchange pleasantries and explain why they are their and Sindaria informs them of the group already meeting with The Mayor. He also gives Zyian a warning that him meeting The Mayor in person may be more visceral for him than the others.

They thank him for his help and head up to the room, knocking on the door to enter. The Mayor invites them in a moment after they knock on the door.

Burz experiences a similar reaction to The Mayor like the others did, but Zyian witnesses an entirely different being.

The desk and the room melted away leaving him and the other being alone in a two dimensional plane of white. The humanoid stood easily twice the size of the regular Mayor with pale, cream green skin and sharp angular features. Wearing white translucent robes that are draped about him like a toga, bound to his body by golden twin so fair it looks like it could be the hair of an elf. On the being’s back there are three pairs of brilliant white wings, on his hip is a massive ram’s horn that appears to be hollowed out to be used as some sort of trumpet. As The Mayor’s liquid gold eyes meet the sapphire blue eyes of Zyian he snaps back to reality (oops there goes gravity...>.> I’m sorry).

The Mayor welcomes them to the room and brings up two more chairs for them. He informs them that he was talking to the others about payment, he was offering 150 gp per crate of supplies that was returned unspoiled, 250 for figuring out what happened to the caravan in general, and though he is quite somber about the idea, he would pay another 150 for anyone brought back alive.

As the party was getting ready to begin The Mayor stops them saying he would like to confer with one of his companions, by fiddling with a magical ring he summoned a gnome before them with a loud interdimensional pop. The gnome wore brown work pants, a white tank top that was covered in dirt and grease stains and a green wizard hat that he wore lopsided. He was introduced as Kizzengulp, Arcane Adviser to The Mayor and Wizard of the Fallen tower. After a rather long, painfully agonizing conversation with the drunk and scatter brained wizard The Mayor gets the point across that he was curious if the gnome had an ally that could aid the adventures.

He mentions a few names (Fancy and Burp to be exact) and then snaps his fingers, does some of that voodoo that he does do and with another loud pop the Wizard Spliff, who had been moping in an alleyway over the lack of money he had made was suddenly warped into the room. As soon as money was offered he volunteered to help with whatever was needed.

Saying and I quote “You had me at pay.”

Now that the introductions were out of the way the group prepared to head out. It took an hour or so for the samurai to collect his mount and a few of the members needed to buy rations, but before long they all met at the southern most gate of the city.

( sorry for my bad art)

The group headed south just past 4 ish in the afternoon. The first leg of the journey past uneventfully and by the time they were halfway to the bend in the road it was getting too dark to continue travelling. They opted to set up camp along the side of the road, the two paladins taking first watch while the wizard studied his spell book.

While the others slept the two paladins took time to get to know one another, Zyian the elf paladin of Lotherentian asked about where Burz the Paladin of Jamal came from.

Burz explained to his companion how he was discovered by some clerics and paladins of Jamal in a destroyed orc camp as an infant and left for dead. They took him back to the city of Stockton where he was raised by an Oracle of Meridian in an orphanage until he could enter the Order of Jamal himself and has been travelling south on a pilgrimage to see that justice is delivered throughout the world.

As the two of them were having this discussion, the mage stodd up, put his staff into the fire and began to hop back and forth chanting “Ooga chaka, ooga ooga, ooga chaka”.

The paladins attempt to call out to him but there was no response, as Burz approached Zyian was filled with an uncontrollable urge to hug him. Now embraced in the elf’s arms Burz the half orc was unable to resist a magical compulsion to kiss the elf full on the lips.

When they snapped out of it they noticed the wizard, who had put the fire on his staff out, sitting cross legged sketching them kissing into his spell book. Once freed of the momentary craziness they attempted to start waking everyone else up which ultimately resulted with the half orc jumping onto the samurai’s mount (Kumo), the wizard stripping himself nude. At one point the area around their fire exploded with activity as the grass surged forward attempting to entangle them.

Eventually the part managed to get back onto the road away from the grass where they eventually spotted what was ‘attacking them’.

Three small, child sized humanoids that appeared to be made of grass wrapping and coiling around a glowing rainbow core. As the party attempted to figure out what was going on (and the Half orc tried to cut one down), the little creatures began shooting out clouds of dust that was slowly beginning to drop members of the party into a deep sleep.

Eventually every member of them drifted to sleep to the giggling of the benign little creatures.

They awoke the next morning to find themselves all in rather precarious predicaments. The Half orc is mounting the human barbarian who is on all forms in a doggy style position, the fetchling and the naked wizard are spooning each other, Zyian was propped up against his packs attempting to draw the orgy, the Drow was lips to lips with his horse and the Oread had been curled up in a ball like a boulder and covered in a blanket. All of them with drawings all over their face in ink from the wizard’s inkwell.

Suffice to say, they all felt a little closer.

To be continued next time, the journey around the bend and the pass of the beginning and end mountains! If you have any questions, comments or tips please let me know! I’m going to be trying to parse the audio to make audio clips but there are times when the general chatting overwhelms the recording and a few other kinks to work through.

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