#she has at least four half-drow children

[psalacanthea]

Fanfic Friday- 5/3

The poll decreed I must pull out something ridiculously self-indulgent I wrote for myself, so here you go!

Astarion x Tav if they'd met before he was a vampire spawn, and she had an oopsie baby after he disappeared.

Post-canon, trying to build a home in a ruined Drow city in the Underdark while dealing with two separate families- mortal and vampire.

This is NOT kidfic (all children involved are full adults, lol), but rather them reconnecting after she was bullied by their daughter to help kill Cazador so her father could finally be free.

10kish words, SFW. (lmk if u think i should put this on AO3)

Much like the rest of their unnamed city, deep in the bowels of the Underdark, Astarion’s study slash meeting hall was half-ruined, empty, and lacking in livable touches.

He hated it.

Still, they were ostensibly safe, and at least for the moment he had some company to complain at.

“And then– you’ll never believe this– Octavia said that it was Rydell who had insulted the Drow ambassador, and worse still, Dalyria defended her.  Everyone knows it was Octavia.  She’s not subtle!  It’ll be a wonder if they ever speak to us again.”

“The amount of drama a bunch of vampire spawn can get up to is rather impressive,”  Lilithera said, voice just a tiny bit distracted.  It usually was.  She spent far too much time working, something he’d have to talk to Zynatheri about.  “Did it cause problems with the negotiations?”

“No,” Astarion sighed, grateful that wasn’t a problem, at least.  “Luckily the myconids standing guard kept things civil.  It was a spot of brilliance suggesting a bit of– what did you call it?”

“Mmmmmmh, symbiosis?”

“Yes, that.  Darling, what in the Hells are you doing that has you so distracted?”

“Sorry, father,” she said, chagrined, voice echoing out of the scrying orb awkwardly as she moved away from her half of the enchanted relic she'd installed for him.  “I’ve been buried in that stack of books you had mother bring me– the cyphered necromancer’s journals you unearthed in the grand crypt?  I don’t know if there’s going to be anything helpful in them, but they’re still fascinating to translate.”

Anything but that.  Ugh.  It was his fault for feeding the wizard’s curiosity, he supposed.  “Your mother would kill me if you turned to necromancy, love.  Especially Drow necromancy.  You need to get out more. Get some sun.”

Lilithera laughed, an edge of sarcasm sharpening it.  “The irony of being told that by my undead father is not lost on me.  I’m trying to help you get out more.  I was invited to a Liar’s Night party, though.  I haven’t been to Waterdeep in an age, I was considering it.  Mother said she’d look after the twins.”

Waterdeep?

Oh no.  “Who invited you, exactly?”

“Archmage Dek–”

“Absolutely not!  Gale?!  Stay the Hells away from that man!”

Zynatheri was going to murder him.  Quite honestly he would let her, rather than being subjected to the idea of being Gale’s father in law.  Oh gods, just thinking those words made him want to vomit.  No, no, absolutely not.

Whatever was going on between Lily and Gale, as her parents they had a duty to utterly sabotage it.

“Father, he’s a colleague!  You and mum are utterly unreasonable.  I’m a hundred and ninety three years old, a widow, and a mother of four, need I remind you.”

“Mmh,” he muttered with an annoyed purse of his lips, trying to think up an actual, valid argument.  She was always so reasonable and logical, it could be frustrating at times.  She certainly hadn’t gotten that from him or Zynatheri. 

“What is your problem with Gale, anyways?”

“He’s my friend, darling, it feels…wrong.  Plus his romantic history is absolutely horrifying, let me tell you.  Who would want that for their daughter?”

Who would want the possibility of having Dekarios grandchildren?

Disgusting.

“I don’t think the man that got my mother pregnant and then disappeared has any right to judge me.  Speaking of, is mum there yet?  She should be arriving soon, shouldn’t she?”

“Who knows with that woman.  She’s worse than a stray cat,”  Astarion dismissed, despite wondering as much himself.  He was still feeling irritated over their argument last time she’d come by, and the fact that she’d gone and disappeared after it– he didn’t particularly mind disagreeing with her, but she always ran away afterward.  It was getting frustrating.  “How the Hells do you keep her from running off?”

“Oh, I stopped trying years ago.  Are you saying…you don’t want her running off?”  there was a sly, cunning little note to Lilithera’s voice.  That she had gotten from him.  Devious brat.

“I’m saying she showed up in my life, saved said life, dropped an entire family in my lap, and then went prancing off into the sunset.  Now she only reappears to do incredibly helpful things, and then briefly infuriate me before disappearing!  It’s very confusing.”

“Imagine having her for a mother.  Have you tried thinking up a reason for her to stay?  A task you might need her help with?  She might be fickle but she always keeps her word, you know.  Or are you too busy pouting and refusing to actually be the one to blink first?”

He rose from his seat, tossing aside the endless piles of reports.  The warming bottle Gale had enchanted for him was only half-full, but that was the state of things right now.  Food was in very short supply, especially with how the idiots kept losing their self-control and stealing from the rothe herd.  And actual thinking food?  

Nothing more than a daydream.

Still, at least he was eating in a more…civilized manner these days.

Pouring blood from bottle into glass, he raised his voice.  “No matter what I say, you’re going to twist it around in that pretty little head of yours until you’ve convinced yourself we’re pining after one another.  She’s a maddening, smug, evil little wretch and just because she confuses me doesn’t mean I’m desperate to learn all her secrets.”

“You’d never know if she were pining after you, anyways.”

Astarion glanced back over his shoulder at the scrying orb, raising his eyebrows.  “And what exactly do you mean by that?”

“Father, she knows what you’ve been through.  Mother would never make the first move, she’s far too respectful for that; she doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable.  She told me as much last time I badgered her about you.”

“You really are a meddlesome little pest, aren’t you, darling?”

There was laughter in her voice.  “It’s a family trait.  When I was a child, before she discovered what had happened to you, I hated you.  I was happy you were gone.  Now that I know you and understand…well, you’re probably the only person I know of that could put up with her.  And vice versa.”

“Stop meddling, love.  You’re too pretty to fret over such things, you’ll give yourself wrinkles.”

“You’re only saying that because everyone says I look like you.  I should go, I’m having dinner with Portia.”

“Tell the girl I say hello.”

“You’re going to have to get used to the word ‘grandfather’ sooner or later.”

Astarion grimaced, glancing out the window.  “No thank you.”

“Ilethra’s getting married.  You might be a great-grandfather before you know it.”

He scowled out at the fungus-lit cavern beyond, spite and annoyance simmering.  How dare she make him feel old like that?  “You’re no longer my favorite.  Why did you have to marry a human?  At least if your children were elven we’d have more time.”

“If you want another full elven child, I suggest you make one yourself.  Ta, father.  I love you.”

By the time the words sank in past his surprise, the spell had long since been banished, the scrying orb dark.  Still, he glanced over his shoulder, gazing at it as an unfamiliar, but welcome warmth rose within him.  She said it so easily, and so earnestly.  

He had someone who loved him.

Of course he put his best foot forward with her most of the time, but Lilithera wasn’t a child.  She was a fully grown woman, and an intelligent and discerning one at that.  He hadn’t tricked her into saying it.

She really, truly meant it.

He wondered if she still would if she knew everything he’d done.

Still, there was no point dwelling on it.  Not when he was neck-deep in shit without a shovel in sight.  Why he’d thought two centuries of in-fighting and petty conflict could be banished all at once, he didn’t know, but when they weren’t demanding he provide all the answers, his siblings spent all of their time arguing.

They’d lost a good thousand of their people already to death and decampment, which he couldn’t say he felt too badly about.  Less mouths to feed, at least.  But the others were panicking, worried about the ill-will those that left could be garnering.  As much as he hated to agree, they might be right.

Petras was trying to convince him to hire assassins to hunt them down.

As if they had the money for that.

Hells, they’d barely stopped traveling, and half of them were sleeping the days away in holes in the ground.  Hardly a safe situation.  That was why allying with the myconids had been a spot of brilliance.  Still a tenuous alliance, but they were working on it.  The Sovereign trusted Zynatheri at least; which would be more useful if the damnable woman would stay.  Now, if only they could forge an alliance with the nearby Drow, instead of having to fear they’d be turned on at a moment’s notice…

He really needed someone to talk to about all of this that wasn’t a vampire themselves.

Just to clear his mind, if nothing else.

Unfortunately, it took a full fortnight for the cat to come back.

“Poppy!  Lysander!”

Why were all her bloody family members so tall?!

Zyn’s fault, entirely.  If she wanted a child, she should have found another drow, but no– no, she’d gone and had a daughter with a high elf.  And then, even worse, her daughter had gone and had children with an even taller human!  It wasn’t fair, that’s what it was.  She was tempted to polymorph herself just to keep up, but after they’d gotten into a scrabble with cloakers earlier, Zyn was feeling a bit low on spellpower.

The twins, of course, were in fine spirits, galumphing along like colts.

“Come on, little mum!” Poppy called back, standing at the top of a narrow cliffside path.  It needed widening.  Some masonry, supports, and a retaining wall, at least.

She knew Astarion had other priorities, but having a good route to the city would be important.  Sadly, she knew as much about road-building as she knew about city planning.  Nil.

“I need you two to hold back!  We can’t enter the city without an escort, you know this!”

The pair paused at the cusp of the hill, but their backs were to Zyn.  She took the incline herself with ill grace, very, very ready to be off of her feet.  She despised the Underdark.  Zyn couldn’t believe in the past year she’d been down here almost a dozen times.  The things one did for family.

Lilithera kept thinking up reasons she needed Zyn to come down.

The girl couldn’t be more obviously trying to herd her parents into a relationship if they tried.

Zynatheri felt…pleasantly surprised by Astarion.  Over the years she’d had nothing at all to do with him after locating him.  And what Lilithera had told her from her scrying wasn’t enough to make any judgments about what he was going through, not enough to know his attitude about his unlife.  When he’d been kidnapped, Lilithera had immediately begged her to find him and protect him, and she’d done her best.

But her expectations of a man who had been tortured and a vampire for two hundred years were very, very low.

So to find him more like the young man she barely remembered than expected was a shock.  Oh, he was more confident now, much more traumatized, and far more worldly and mature, but there was still something of that ambitious, fussy, self-absorbed spoiled brat she’d liked so much in him.  It wasn’t as if she hadn’t gotten more bitter and nasty over the years, herself.

Life did that even if you weren’t being abused by a vampire.

Zyn finally reached the top of the hill, ignoring the worried look and gracefully extended hand Lysander offered down her.  He was a sweet boy, but spent far too much time worrying.  It made her feel old.

“Darling, I’m barely even three hundred,” she told him, not bothering to hide the exasperation.  “Before long, you’re going to be older than me!”

“That isn’t how it works, little mum,” Poppy said with a roll of her eyes.

The twins couldn’t be more different and yet oddly alike– they both were the most curiously sensitive and caring children she’d ever met, but with a morbid streak a mile wide.  But while Lysander turned it inward, with dreamy eyes and a worrying penchant for poetry, Poppy turned it outward, with a ferocity of purpose and a helping hand that preferred to hold an axe.  And yet, there had never been two siblings as close-knit as they were.

When Lysander had asked to meet their grandfather, it hadn’t even been a question that Poppy would come along.

Besides, she needed more combat experience.

Together they stood on that precipice, attention naturally drawn to the ruin below them.  An ancient drow city, where her mother’s own people had been driven out generations ago in a conflict with the Houses of Menzoberranzan.  It looked…better than she recalled from last time, some signs of repairs beginning.  Clumsy repairs, mind, but between the vampires’ awkward attempts at masonry and the myconids’ aid in the form of natural fungal structures, it was beginning to look livable.

The multicolored mushrooms glowing against the surface of the ancient, slick black, spiky architecture was a surprisingly pleasant contrast.

“This was once called Arzullnioth.  It’s where your great-grandmother’s family lived long before the Spellplague.  The Houses of Arzullnioth attacked Menzoberranzan.  It did not go well,”  Zynatheri commented, starting to lead the way down the slope.  “Llolth chose Menzoberranzan, but your great-grandmother’s House was spared her wrath because they sacrificed every first-born daughter to her in a desperate placation.  They killed and killed until Lolth bid them stop, with only a single heir left– your great-great grandmother Kiivashti.  Thus, they were allowed to flee the city with what remained of House Tzahane.  My mother told me of it when I was a girl.” “That’s vicious,”  Poppy said disapprovingly, short raven curls bouncing as she shook her head.

“It’s very beautifully sad,” Lysander agreed, amber-and-earth eyes gazing over the cityscape with misty wonder, as if viewing its past.  “Did grandfather find their bodies?”

“Well, I don’t know, pet,”  Zynatheri said, too well-used to fatalistic minds to be bothered by it.  “We can look.  Perhaps they’ve found some clues that would point us to where great-grandmother’s family put their dead.”

“Honestly, little mum, I can see why you don’t like your family,” Poppy said with distaste.  “Killing all your own children; how evil.”

They walked together down the uneven slope of stone, the remnants of an ancient roadway more visible now.  The gate and wall that had closed out the great cavern of Arzullnioth were crumbled, damaged, but it seemed there were sentry myconids patiently standing in the gap where the city’s entrance had been.  Proper guards.  It was good to see.

The Sovereign Vorm had been busy at work budding, it seemed.

“Flower, we are walking into a city full of vampires, so try not to be too enthusiastic about calling things evil?”

“There’s a difference.  I’m not a child any more, I understand,”  Poppy huffed, rolling her eyes.  “The person who is evil is the one who turned them all.  And he’s dead.”

“Righteousness has done just as much wrong, if not more, than those they claim are evil,” Lysander agreed, softly sad.

Zyn fought the urge to scoff at youthful philosophy.  It was fine.  It was a luxury they had which meant they’d been raised safely and well, she had to remind herself, which was exactly what she’d sacrificed so much for.  So that they didn’t end up like her.

The idea softened her momentary exasperation, warming it.

“Ah, I did such a good job raising you,” Zyn self-congratulated, ignoring the pair rolling their eyes at each other behind her.

“Mum had something to do with that, little mum.”

“Well, hells, I raised her, too!”

As they approached the gate, it became clear that the city was still very quiet, only the fungal folk wandering the broken streets.  Shit.  She’d meant to arrive well after nightfall, but it seemed they were still a bit early.  While they took a pause just outside at the shrine of Beshaba Zyn had built, they all did their perfunctory offerings, and then she bid them wait.

“We shouldn’t go in until your grandfather sends someone to fetch us,” Zyn said apologetically.  “Stay right here, I’ll go speak to the guards.”

While she dealt with communicating the fact that she needed Astarion to fetch them, Zyn watched the city streets.  She could see a few shadowy figures out now, which meant it was probably just past nightfall.  Yes, better not to parade the children through the streets in front of a bunch of barely-awake, hungry vampires– that was a recipe for disaster.  

After she got her point across and managed to extricate herself– communicating with myconids was simple for her as a bard, but also addictively enjoyable– Zyn returned to the twins to wait.  And wait.  And…wait.

She was starting to get genuinely annoyed by the time Astarion arrived, and had paced back to the gate to wait, crossing her arms over her chest.  Coming down the hill, disheveled and still in the process of fastening his belt, Astarion looked about as annoyed as she felt.  When he noticed her and frowned, she lifted her chin and stared him down.

“You know where I live!” he snapped at her as he approached.

“I do,” she agreed, lifting her hands as he bore down on her.  “Come here.  Your hair is a mess.”

“Yes, well, I was still in my dressing gown,” he fussed, but obediently leaned down so she could fix his hair for him.  “Why didn’t you just come u–”

“Hello, grandfather!”  Poppy called cheerfully, the twins crunching up to join them.

Astarion straightened abruptly, pulling out of her reach.  He tugged down the front of his embroidered jacket, staring at the approaching pair for a moment before turning an accusing gaze on her.  She gave a small shrug.  Astarion sighed, heavily.

“Don’t take it out on them,” she hissed.

“I know,” Astarion snapped back.  Much to her relief, his mask slipped into place.  “You must be Poppy and Lysander.  I apologize, I hadn’t been told you were coming!  Imagine that!”  The last two words snapped with pointed accusation.

“Can we not fight in front of them, either?”

He gave her a dour look, and then sighed and stepped past her to greet the children.  She kept her peace all the way to the half-ruined palace he had claimed, which amusingly she had realized from the designs of the stonework had once belonged to her mother’s family.  Not that she’d mentioned it.  In fact, Zyn didn’t think she’d ever brought up House Tzahane’s history here to him– it hadn’t seemed relevant.

Having grown up on the surface, she had about as much connection to this place as a pig did to a plate of ham.

Whatever they would make of this place would be their own.

At any rate, Poppy chattered the entire way, so that filled the silence quite nicely.  

As she’d been suspecting, their bright, noisy presence drew a lot of attention as they traveled the shattered streets, something Astarion also seemed extremely aware of.  The twins were relaxed, but they were both on high alert.  Naturally Lysander was drawn to mooning about every even slightly interesting feature, but Zyn kept her hand close and gave him a bit of a tug every time he started to wander or pause to peek in ruined courtyards or fallen buildings.  

He was a bit too much like his deceased mother at times– head forever in the clouds.

As they approached the House, she looked it over with a critical eye.  The towers were missing their old statuary and spires, but it looked like he’d managed to get one of the roofs repaired, finally.  The gardens that spread before the building were neat and tidy but mostly empty, nothing but dirt, rocks, and old paths, with just enough fungal and bulbfruit foliage to feed the pair of rothes stabled there, tied to the remnants of an old shattered obsidian statue of the Spider Queen.

“Well, this is grim,” Poppy remarked.

“Gardening is a bit low on my list of priorities right now,” Astarion replied, sounding fairly annoyed.  “But I agree.  Aesthetically displeasing.  A state of affairs I’ve had to grow accustomed to.  It’s irritating.”

“Why empty it out, then?”

“Half the plants here were aggressive.  They kept trying to kill people.  I much prefer plants I can use to kill other people.  I was unaware kelpies were such an issue here in the Underdark, we’ve had a full half-dozen run ins with the damned things.”

“I’ve never met a kelpie.  I’ve heard they’re very beautiful,” Lysander mused softly.

“You would die,” his sister retorted sharply.  “Please don’t go looking for them.”

“Drowning seems like a peaceful way to die.  Don’t you think?”

“No, love, it involves a lot of choking and thrashing and loosening of the bowels,”  Zynatheri said tolerantly, unphased.  “The right poison or a beheading will do you much better.”

“Beheading is classic,”  Astarion agreed.  “But what about you, dear?”

“I’m going to go out fighting.  I’ll spit blood in their eye as they run me through,”  Poppy said with delighted relish.  

“How vicious,” Astarion laughed.

She knew he was irritated they’d come, but Zynatheri was grateful to discover that he respected her requests to keep things like that private.  Whether it was because they were virtual strangers to him or not, it was still appreciated.  After Ilethra and Portia had gotten to meet him, she hadn’t seen real reason to refuse the twins that wouldn’t have been infantilizing on her part.  Just because they were the babies of the family didn’t make them children.

And she couldn’t say yes to Poppy and no to Lysander just because he had a more, mmh…passive personality.

But Hells, she was going to have to keep an eye on him.  If they weren’t careful, he’d wander into the middle of town in an open-fronted shirt, reading poetry and looking wistfully melancholic.  Then they’d have to explain to Lilithera how they’d gotten her youngest killed.

Or worse, they’d end up with a vampire-in-law.

Silly, lovely boy.

“Let’s try to stay at the House, loves, shall we?”  Zynatheri suggested as they wandered into the vaulted front hall, the massive funguswood doors she’d painstakingly magicked back to life cracked open enough for them all to file in.

“No exploring?”  Poppy asked, obviously disappointed.

“There’s plenty of exploring to do here,”  Astarion said, in tacit agreement with Zyn, which relieved her.  “I haven’t been in half the rooms of this place.  And on that note, we’re a bit low on furniture, so you may have to break out those bedrolls again.  I haven’t the supplies to be a good host.”

“I brought some furniture, and we’re fully provisioned,” Zyn assured him, and smiled at his questioning look.  “Lily found me a portable hole.  I thought it was high time I brought you some things to make this place a bit more livable, now that it’s survivable.”  And because she knew he’d be annoyed and she wanted to sweeten his temper so he didn’t take it out on the children.

Astarion shot her a look of wide-eyed gratitude that made her laugh.

“You suffer more than anyone has ever suffered before,” she teased him.

“Even a single rug sounds like bliss right about now.  The floors are always cold despite how warm it is here.”

“Little mum said you like to read, so I brought you books,” Lysander said, attention fixed somewhere among the buttresses.  He tripped slightly, staggered, and then straightened up with Poppy’s hand on his elbow, looming over all three of them.  “When you have time later, grandfather, Poppy and I were hoping we could speak with you.”

“My docket’s rather full for most of the night– at dinner later, perhaps?”

“Dinner?  Dinner’s already passed,”  Poppy said with a laugh.

“When you’re a visitor, you have to follow local customs.  We’ll follow his schedule.  You heard grandfather, he has a lot to do.”  Zyn turned her attention to him, raising an eyebrow.  “Should I put them in the room you gave me last time?”

“Thank you,” he said simply, already stepping away.  “I’ll leave you to it?”

As she’d much rather he processed their arrival away from the twins, Zynatheri left it at that and they parted ways.

It was always such a struggle to keep your damage from infecting those around you.  And Astarion?  He had a great many scars both literal and figurative.  Well, if he got too snippy with them, she could always threaten his life again.

There was always time for murder.

...

Astarion cradled his head in his hand, slumped deep into his chair.

“There is no need to waste energy on a farce of a court when immediate suppression is necessary to our survival,” Aurelia said firmly, with a hint of hurt and frustration in her voice.  “We lost another of our brethren today, and–”

Violet sighed in deep ennui, eyes rolling up and to the side as she splayed forward.  Resting her pale cheek on her palm, she stared at their tiefling sibling.  Her voice dripped with sing-song disdain. “Stop pretending to care.  You just want power.  You’re afraid giving Astarion judicial power means you can’t be Queen Aurelia.  Give it up. Nobody wants you to be in charge, you overbearing, weepy cow.”

“Why are we worrying about a few dead rothes when there’s runaway spawn out there, muddying our name everywhere we go?  We need to strike them down!  This is about our long-term survival!” Petras snapped, slamming his hands on the table.

Astarion sighed again, well aware Yousen and Dalyria were staring at him expectantly.  Of course when Petras said something, he was expected to respond.  “And what do you expect us to do in the short term, I wonder?” he asked, head rolling to the side as his hand dropped with an exasperated flourish.  “Do tell, brother.  Where does the money come from to fund your little hunting escapades?  Will we starve while you play?  Or are you just trying to get permission to go lurk in the nearest city?  Hmm?  Do a little clandestine hunting yourself?”

Predictable as always, Petras’ expression immediately stiffened.  Idiot.  Gods, at least he was still stupid; imagine if he’d actually become intelligent in the wake of freedom.

This all would be even more complicated.

They didn’t have the time for complicated right now, there were some corners that needed cutting.

“There’s no need to overthink it.  It’s only a judicial court, and we’re immortal!  We either execute people, flog them, or fine them within an inch of their lives.  What good will imprisonment do?”  Astarion declared, leaning back in his seat to scan across his siblings once more.

Dalyria gave him a look of disapproval, but he ignored it.

“He has a point,” Yousen said sardonically.

“We may not have time for building a code of laws just yet, but we cannot start executing people in the street!”  Dalyria protested, tearing her gaze away from Astarion.  “If people are afraid they will flee, and the damage already done will worsen.  What we need to do is focus on a cu–”

“Cure?  What, while we starve to death?  The idiots are killing our source of food.  They may as well die,” Petras said, giving Dal a look of frustration.  When she turned away from him, lifting her chin, he raised his voice sharply.  “Don’t ignore me because you don’t like my point!”

“Waaah,” Violet said snidely, rubbing her eyes with her fists.

“What an intelligent rebuttal.”

“Rebuttal?  What a long word.  Have you learnt to read at last, Petras?”

“Leon?”  Aurelia interrupted from the head of the table before things grew any more fraught.

“Do as you like,” their silent sibling said, staring at a polished black stone mural behind Aurelia’s head.  Leon’s voice was affectedly bored.  “What do they call those spider-drow, Astarion?”

“Driders,” he replied, cautious about the change in topic.  

“I found a skeleton of one below my House,” Leon said, voice musing.  “Within tunnels surrounding a whole…temple of Lolth.  Have we any knowledge regarding Lolth’s opinion on vampires?”

“Necromancy is common in Drow society,” Astarion temporized, trying to search his memory.  Did he know that?  Had he asked Zynatheri?  No, he didn’t think he had, beyond using their dead.  “Ritual sacrifice is her favorite activity, I doubt she draws the line at vampires.  Just try not to desecrate the temple?”

Being the opportunist he was, Yousen slithered into the conversation then.  “Lucky for us you’ve acquired a pet Drow, then.  You can ask it.”

“Jealousy is ugly, brother,” Astarion retorted dismissively, waving a hand.  Considering how she had chosen to arrive this time, he knew the information would have reached his siblings.  He also knew Yousen was ensuring that everyone else was certain to know.  Stirring the pot.  

Conniving little gnome.

“You should share food with the whole family.”

Fine.  He wanted to push?  Astarion was more than happy to push right back.  “Speaking of pets, brother dear, have you told Violet yet that you were the one who killed the kruthik hatchling she was keeping?”

Yousen went silent immediately, but the silence didn’t last long.

Within moments the table had descended into threats, verbal attacks, and accusations as two centuries of bile spilled over once more.  Normally Astarion would have been among them, goading, but being in control for the moment, he only felt a detached sense of amusement.  They were so easy to manipulate.

Granted, this wasn’t progress, but at least they weren’t irritating him any longer.

And wasn’t that what really mattered?

As the others attacked one another, Astarion and Leaon observed one another across the table in silence.  Their alliance was, and remained tenuous, but Astarion understood his youngest ‘brother’ more now than he had before.  What he had done– what he was still doing for his daughter– was completely comprehensible now in a way none of the others could understand.

It also, unfortunately, settled some of his rage and vitriol towards Zynatheri for never rescuing him.

Although he didn’t feel it, that urge to protect a child, he did at least understand it now.  It wasn’t fair that his grudge was being ruined with this new comprehension, but oh well.  She didn’t need to know he wasn’t angry any more.  

If she did, she might feel less guilty, and then she wouldn’t be so quick to placate him.

Eventually, when he made no attempt, Aurelia bullied and tearfully manipulated everyone back into line.  They made a few pressing decisions, though the greater one of ‘justice’ remained undecided apart from temporarily being shoved onto Astarion’s plate.  Dalyria was the odd one out, determined to give grace and understanding for some reason.  He assumed she wanted to pick a fight with Aurelia.

And Astarion also knew she was already experimenting on some of the spawn assigned to her House.  Another tidbit to keep in his back pocket.  One never knew when it might come in handy to toss out at a necessary moment– no matter how lenient he was towards the three of them, he was also more cautious around his sisters.

Yousen was wholly untrustworthy, Petras was stupid and petulant, and Leon, well…he was only here at all due to bribery and threats.

Things wound down a bit more tense than before, as they always did, and everyone parted ways to go back to secretly trying to manipulate one another.  Part of him had hoped being free would mean things would get better, but that seemed impossible unless they went their separate ways.  Their scars were all twisted together, making them parts of a whole in an unwholesome and unpleasantly familial fashion.  They had been forced to be family, but that was over, and somehow they still were.

Even Leon, though he denied it.

And right now, they needed each other.

He waited until they were all gone before leaving the table himself, knowing none of them would be stupid enough to go skulking through his House right now.  Later, when he wasn’t expecting it would be more likely.  He did note that Yousen hadn’t mentioned the children, which made him think that he hadn’t known they were Astarion’s mortal relations.

None of the children looked enough like Lilithera to be easily identifiable as his blood, thankfully.

Finally he rose to leave, ignoring the papers and reports.  Not now.  Now he wanted to relax, as being around family could be exhausting.

“Astarion.”

Hands clutched abruptly at his sleeve as he left the ancient dining room they’d been using as a meeting chamber.  Astarion paused with a start, exhausted mind already ready to snap until he looked into Violet’s worried eyes, her lips pulled down into a deep frown.  Annoyed, he still tempered his frustration.  Not listening to her would just send her into a fit.

“Yes, Vi?”

“Before the meeting over the judicial court, I overheard Petras telling Dalyria that Aurelia wanted them to vote against you.”

Astarion fought the urge to roll his eyes, well aware of the simple attempt at manipulation.  “While I appreciate you telling me, dear, you do know that for this to work, sometimes we will vote against each other?  Otherwise, what’s the point in making a council at all?  I would just name myself tyrant if that weren’t the case.”  As much as he hated to admit it.

“Yes, but they’re plotting.”

He tapped the end of her nose affectionately, and she clutched him closer, fingers creeping into the crook of his arm, possessive and spidery.  “Isn’t that what you’re doing right now?”

She smiled at him with an innocence that almost hid the wicked edge, ducking her chin, scarlet eyes averting.  “I thought you would want to know.  I’ve been working very hard on my House.  Will you come see it tonight?”

For a moment he nearly, habitually said yes, and then remembered the hapless relatives gamboling around in his House with fearless abandon.  Also, Zynatheri was waiting for him.  With a smile, he peeled her fingers from his arm, giving her hand a small pat as he released her.

“Tomorrow.  I have things to do, still.”

“You mean you’re going to spend time with your mortal.”  All affectation and smiles left her face; she didn’t even bother to look hurt or pained.  Just cold, and nasty.  “I don’t like her.”

“She is the only reason we’re safe down here,” he rejected her simply, taking her arm with a pointed air and all but dragging her to the exit.  The last person he wanted to be here right now was Violet.  

Once he ensured all of his siblings were gone, he turned away and headed deeper into the House, away from any errant spawn.

Every step echoed.

That echo was constant, a reminder of how empty this place was.  When Astarion had sent them to the Underdark and promised to follow, he’d been anticipating a crude camp, a constant struggle, carving a life out of dangerous caverns.  He’d even been considering leading them to Grymforge in the hopes of making it livable, but…

To have found this half-shattered, ancient Drow city was beyond all of his expectations, and it was Lilithera and Zynatheri who had made it possible.

But gods was it empty.

Then again, empty was better than how it had been when they’d moved in; stuffed full of monsters, traps, and other dangerous things.

He didn’t blame Zynatheri for preferring to be in his room– it was the only one decorated.  Again, thanks to her and her daughter.  He should dig something out of the artifacts they’d found to send back to Lily in thanks.  Something that wasn’t necromantic.  This time.

“Grandfather!”

The word still roused a twinge of unease, and not just because it made him feel old.  Because it made him feel dead.  It was the same reason he’d rejected Lilithera’s offer to find what remained of his mortal family– that all was so ancient and forgotten he would rather leave it that way.  For now.  But his own discomfort, well, it hardly mattered to the children.

And Zynatheri had made it rather clear she would murder him if he in any way upset them.

They bore down on him, golden-eyed, energetic Poppy and wistful, distracted Lysander.  A continuation of his life, like lively mushrooms sprouting from a dead log.  All of them made him feel the strangest sense of rejection and yearning, wanting what they were to him but not wanting to admit what he’d lost.  He did try to keep it from them, at least.

His relations were twisted enough without inflicting it on these bright, curiously innocent creatures his mortal life had made.

“Did you sleep well?”

“I’ve never been in a Drow Great House before!  Sometimes I forget that we’re quarter drow, it’s not like people see that.  They just call you a half-elf and be done with it,” Poppy chattered, beaming at him until her eyes crinkled like Lilithera’s.

“It’s beautiful and lonely,” Lysander opined, untidy hair falling back from his eyes as he gazed upwards. "The walls are full of ghosts, and the floors hold memories of blood."

Poppy grinned with a hint of feral excitement. “We were just going to go find little mum, to see if she wanted to go exploring! Maybe we'll find an ooze.”

Astarion knew by now that there was nothing she wanted less.  Lazy woman.  “Your grandmother is resting.  Under orders.  I would appreciate it if you two would head downstairs and survey the second level for me.  Take an inventory of what remains.  But if there’s danger more than a trap or a few undead, you have to promise to come fetch us at once.”

“We promise,” Poppy agreed earnestly, cheeks dimpling in an irrepressible smile.  

“Go on, then.  My rooms are just there,” he pointed down the left-hand hallway.  “You’ll be able to see the firelight.  You have…food and things?  Water?  Potions?”

“We are provisioned for the journey,”  Poppy said, curls bouncing as she nodded vigorously.

He was about to let them go, until a thought struck him, uncomfortable and worried.  No.  They weren’t truly safe here, were they?  Not even in his demesne.  It chilled him to think about what Violet would do if she had them in her hands.  “If you…see anyone at all.  Any strangers.  Please come right back.”

“Little mum told us not to trust anyone but you,” Lysander reassured him, those dreamy copper eyes suddenly, and surprisingly intent.  “We won’t succumb to the lure of darkness.”

“He means we won’t talk to strangers,”  Poppy said, with a hint of exasperation.  Grabbing her twin by his upper arm, she started dragging him off.  “Honestly!  They act like we aren’t grown,” she complained as she pulled him towards the grand staircase in the main hall.

“They have seen centuries; us, mere decades.”

“That doesn’t mean they have to be so overbearing about it,” Poppy complained.

“I’m still standing right here!”

Poppy glanced over her shoulder, pulling down the skin under her eye with her free hand, making a horrible face.

Reflexively he made a face back at her, and her expression shifted into an impish smile.  

Bemused, he watched them disappear into the darkness.

Once their footsteps died away, a thin silvery thread of sound drew his attention.  A soft, ethereal voice, languidly singing a wordless song.  A siren in the shadows.  It was the barest beckon, only audible due to echoes and the slight crack of the bedroom door that spilled gilded light into the massive ebon corridor.  

A lone figure, dwarfed by the empty and lonesome architecture, he followed that lure.

The austere, icy darkness of the reflective walls and ominous vaulted space faded away as he pushed open the door, the gilded firelight spilling over him.  It was warmer within, a spiral of steam rising from the newly-hidden bathtub in the corner.  The wood and silk folding screen Lilithera had bought him was in front of it, partially blocking it from view.

What had once been a room empty of everything but an icy stone bed frame and an empty basin was now a living space, hangings on the walls, rugs on the floor.  Books and furnishings and a sturdy desk covered in papers, curios.  A painting of his family on the mantle.  Signs of life and living, tucked into a space that was his.

And before the fire, lounging on the daybed with her nearly-dry alabaster hair cascading over the arm and down to the floor, was the curious creature who had barged her way into his life and gleefully disordered it.  A glowing golden glass of brandy was sitting on the floor just under her dangling fingertips, her moonstone eyes vague and distant.  Zynatheri was singing to herself, drowsy and soft, blue cheek pillowed attractively on a bright golden pillow, her knees curled up under his burgundy dressing gown.  The curve of one soft calf peeked out, her foot pointed off the cushion in a graceful, sinuous line.

Astarion was struck, in the oddest fashion, by a desire to let her do nothing but lounge and sing like a contented songbird for the rest of her life.  Avarice wanted her caged, unable to leave so that he could always have this curiously warm sensation, but humanity– if that’s what you wanted to call it– wanted her here like this.  A sweetly nested bird with no desire to fly away.

It suited her.

“Are you drunk, little fox?” he asked, amusement spilling over the words.

She startled, knees curling up to her chest, hands clutching the front of his dressing gown closed– as if he hadn’t seen the unbound, ripe curves of her bared chest already.  Accusing moonstone eyes turned on him.  “You bid me relax, brought me brandy, and I have drunk.  I cannot un-drink, or un-drunk.”

“But you can draw me a bath, it seems.”

“I heard you talking to the twins and heated it up, so it’s still warm.”

“Thank you.”

Pushing off the doorframe, he pulled the door closed behind him, knowing there would be a sliver of light in the hallway.  Feeling a sudden buoyancy in his mood, he paused while passing by the daybed, leaning over the curving back.  She peered up at him, nose wrinkling irritably as he swiped a finger down her cheek, the skin velvety and warm under his fingertip.

Mockingly, he rubbed his fingers together, inspecting them.  “Hmmh.”

“I washed,” she said, tartly.

“So you did,” he agreed, smirking to himself.

“There’s a wooden box of bath essences on the table,” she murmured, eyes slitting closed like a contented cat when his hand briefly rested on her head in passing.

The reaction was so soft, so natural, that his mind couldn’t help but dwell on what a more affectionate caress might do.  He might as well admit it.  Astarion was fascinated by the little minx.  Attracted to her.  He might be a little more uneasy about that if her two centuries of devotion felt in any way attached to some adoration or sexual desire, but they didn’t.

She’d looked for him for their daughter, not out of love or infatuation.  He knew what those looked like.  In her eyes he saw neither, just a friendly affection that had been slowly growing with each meeting, much like his for her.  But even her disheveled state of sexually charming disarray right now was just relaxation and her feeling comfortable, not any active attempt at seduction.

She was simply a seductive person.

Why was she still here?

Was it really just for the children?

His thumb caught the catch on the richly-scented wooden box settled on a small side table carved with sinuously twisted designs– a decorative table.  Such a small, pointless luxury, but one he had now.  The box was filled with small glass bottles, and he smelled them each until one struck him.  Earthy, woody, relaxed and warm.  

Not a scent made to hide anything, just to be enjoyed.

He plucked the oil out of the box, and headed for the heated water.  “What do you expect me to wear?”

“I’ll go dress,” she muttered drowsily.

“If the dressing gown is damp I don’t want it.”

He heard a huff, but no verbal response.

The vial poured into the water filled the air with an inviting, rich scent, beckoning him to relax.  After today, it wasn’t a lure he could resist.  Shrugging his clothing to the floor, he stepped into the deep tub, pleased to find the water scalded his skin, warm to the point of discomfort.  Perfect.

Astarion closed his eyes and sighed as he sank into it.

Seconds flowed by, languid, as he let the heat sink into his bones.  It felt good.  Rejuvenating.  The room would normally be empty, but he could hear the small sounds of someone else moving around in his space, filling it with a strange warmth.  Her footsteps, breaths, the soft hum.

“Sing me a song, little nightingale,” he murmured, lungs filled with heady steam.

Instantly, but distantly, she lifted her voice in song, a softly lilting little folk tune that was as gentle as it was morbid. Like so many folk songs.  Her sweet voice sank into him, relaxing muscles he hadn’t even known were tense.  

After so many nights alone in the darkness, working, having her here was a balm to wounds he hadn’t even known were causing him pain.

Her voice wandered closer as she completed the song, some little tune about a woman dying on her wedding day.  She tossed his dressing gown over the top of the curtain, followed by a loose pair of pants.  Nothing else.  He gave a rather pointed ‘ahem’.

“What?”

“Generally undergarments are worn under trousers.”

“Get your own underwear,” she scoffed, making him laugh.  Her voice softened minutely.  “Don’t worry about your dirty things, Lysander needs to practice his cantrips, I’ll have him clean them.”

“I was under the impression that he was learning wizardry, not bardic arts.”  Astarion scooped up the sponge, finally feeling relaxed enough to bother with scrubbing.

“Lily tried, but he just doesn’t have the mind for it.  Not stupidity, just focus.  He doesn’t like it, so his mind wanders– music is easier for him.”

“Too much of a dreamer.”

“Hmmh,” she agreed softly.  “We should let him dream.”

“I suppose it is a luxury we can afford him,” Astarion said, trying to ignore the weight of that statement and the bitterness it brought up.  “So what do you think of the twins’ grand plan to reconnect people with their families?”

Zynatheri sighed, the sound trailing off into silence.  Nothing but the crackle of the fireplace and soft sloshing of the water filled the air, until she finally blew out a breath between her lips.  “I think it has a lot of potential to do good, but also a lot of potential to summon an army of Lathander’s followers intent on wiping you all out.  I still think isolation and discreet alliances are your wisest courses until you are stronger.  I think that they are…thinking the best of people.  I think that they are thinking ‘our grandfather is a vampire, and we don’t care.  Why would anyone else?’”

She was absolutely correct.  There was no way they could survive a crusade, and any followers of Lathander would slay them on principle.  They were vulnerable, and would be for some years as they started slowly creeping past survival into thriving and growing.  And they needed those years.  Their weakness was a lack that only time and hard work could cure.

No skills, no martial talents, no magic even beyond Leon’s.

Which was why Astarion didn’t feel the least bit badly about blackmailing him into staying.

“I’ll speak to them.  Perhaps you and I could think of another outlet for their…youthful enthusiasm.”

“Do you even have the mental fortitude for more problem-solving?” she teased.

He gave an exhausted sigh that made her laugh, slumping back in the bathtub until his head rested on its edge.  Astarion closed his eyes.  It was a valid question, and the answer was no– but they both knew that.

“I’d like to help, but my knowledge is more broad than deep– I don’t know a lot about logistics.  But if it would help, I’d be happy to make a donation.  The twins will want to stay for a while, so I’ll have time to recover.”

Was she–

Shock spurred his tongue, water sloshing dangerously as he sat up straight.  “Are you offering me blood?”

“It’s the easiest way to help you, isn’t it?  I do like things that are easy.”

“I’ve never had someone offer it to me before.”  At least not out of altruism.  Thinking of that alchemist from Moonrise just made him disgusted, however, so he moved on quickly from thinking about that.  And in his current situation… “I’d be a fool to say no.”

“Should we wait until I’m sober?”

As much as he wanted it now, in a desperately hungry way– that uplifting warmth that washed away the eternal fog, that invigorating breath of life… “We should wait until dusk.  It’s nearly morning.  I’d hate to waste even a drop.”

“It’s funny how you can tell,” she said, and cracked a soft yawn.  “In the morn– er, dusk, then.”

The water was starting to cool, and with it his desire to be in it any longer.  It was a shame, though.  When she wasn’t here, the best he could do would be a cauldron heated over the fire, which wasn’t enough to lounge in, just enough to get clean.  But what real impetus could he give her to stay?  How could he make her stay and take care of him the way he wanted, the way she owed him for the two hundred years she’d done nothing.

It wasn’t at all true, but it felt true– which was enough for him.

It didn’t matter what he thought, as long as he didn’t say it.

Regardless, Zynatheri wasn’t in love with him, he couldn’t provide for her or offer her comfort that she wasn’t the one giving to him.  Asking her to stay would be asking her to struggle.  And for what?  So he could enjoy her company and the comforts that came with it?

Well…why not?

It wasn’t as if there would be any harm in asking, right?

If she wasn’t willing to stay and indulge him, then she’d simply say no and that would be the end of it.  She wouldn’t hold a grudge.  Right?  Of course that was right, why was he even second-guessing it?

When he finished dressing, she'd pulled herself up to sit on the daybed, leaving space for him. She'd thrown on her loose linen traveling shirt and trousers, bare feet tucked under her, head resting on her arm. He didn't ever think he'd seen her with a fully upright posture.

Always lounging like a cat.

The temptation was near-impossible to resist, and by now he knew she'd allow it.

Astarion was proven correct when dropping onto the seat next to her and slumping to the side only had her shifting her posture, legs dropping to the floor, back settling into the embrace of the fainting couch's arm. Willingly, he let her shift him from her shoulder to her lap, head falling onto the soft pillow of her thighs.

Gods, the damnable woman was comfortable.

“You’re so tired,” she said fretfully, running her fingers slowly through his damp hair as he adjusted himself.  “You need to relax more.”

“Two centuries of…spite, rivalry, competition, and puppeteering by our M– by Cazador has made it difficult between the seven of us.  They listen to me, of course, but the constant bickering…ugh. Exhausting.”

“Do I make things more difficult for you, because I keep coming by?  Would you prefer that I stay a–”  She stalled as he cracked open an eye and placed a single finger on her lips.  Bemused, she pursed them.

“Yes, I would,” he said.

“Then I’ll go,” she said, posture stiffening, an amusingly annoyed expression on her face.

“What are you talking about?”  Despite knowing exactly why he’d irritated her, Astarion pulled a confused expression.   A little game. Except...much to his surprise, he was the only one playing it.

Usually she was quick, but he’d forgotten– Zynatheri was drunk.

While her face went through a long journey of utter bemusement, he watched from his very comfortable position, highly amused watching her alcohol-sodden brain trying to function.  When she turned a glare down on him, he smirked.  The silly creature pouted.

“You’re taking advantage of my muddled head,” she whined, flicking his forehead.  

He swatted her away, knuckles smacking into the back of her hand, stinging.

“Owwwwh,” she whined pathetically.  “What are you doing?  You told me to go away, so I’m going away.”

“You didn’t say go away,” he replied, discreetly shaking his own hand.

“Yes, I did, I asked if you wanted me to go away and you said yes.”

“No, you asked if I wanted you to stay…” he finished by placing a finger on her lips again.

Her pretty moonstone eyes went rounder than usual, lips pursing under his finger out of shock and not affection.  Still amusing.  Cheeks flushing an unfairly charming shade of purple, she stared down at him.  His smirk grew into a wide, amused smile of delight.

Was she actually–

“You’re blushing!”

“No!  I don’t blush!” she protested, reaching up and clutching her cheeks.  “I’m flushed from drinking!”

“I’ve been lying here wondering if somehow all my charms have gone stale,” he teased her, laughing when she gave a faint ‘hmph’ and turned her face away, nose in the air.  He let his expression turn cajoling, amused by her pouty little act.  He saw the little peeks she gave him, wanting to know his reaction.  Softening his voice, he tried to lure her out with a low croon.  “Come now, little fox. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

She shot him a scornful, aloof look, her big silver eyes turning distant.  “Are we?  Well, friends shouldn’t be indebted to each other, should they?  I’ve been raising your non-vampiric spawn for two hundred years, that adds up!”

Offended, but too comfortable to move, he folded his arms over his chest, steepling his index fingers together.  “Really?  You’re extorting me?  I wonder what Lilithera would say if I told her that you said that.”

Immediately she puffed her cheeks, looking mortally, but hilariously offended.  Any attempts at dignity flew right out the window.  “Don’t you dare!  You bully!”

“I’m the bully?!  You just threatened me!”

“You were teasing me,” she replied, a little whine to her voice.

What a frustratingly, infuriatingly adorable creature she was.

“You’re impossible to be angry at.  It’s annoying,” he informed her, amused by her smile of triumph.  And then she went back to stroking his hair, which soothed away any thoughts of continuing the play-fighting.  His eyes closed, the rhythmic, affectionate touch soothing and gentle.  

His words gained no response, but he had no desire to break the peaceful, calm silence.  The fire crackled, her touch wound through his hair, strands curling around her fingers, tugging lightly when she freed herself.  It was hypnotic.

She smelled like brandy and night-blooming flowers, a rich, sultry perfume, and her lap was warm and soft as he lounged bonelessly against her.  Her embrace was possibly just a little better than the bath.  And all of this with the oddest lack of seduction or sexual intent– just intoxicatingly guileless affection.  It made him think of Lilithera’s words, about how she would ‘never make the first move’.  If she hadn’t by now…

Zynatheri’s velvety voice was soft.  “Did you mean that?”

He knew instantly what she was referring to; a shared thought.  “I don’t have anything to give you.”

“Hmm?”

“There’s no reason for you to stay even if I had meant it.”

Zynatheri gave another of those soft ‘hmm’s, voice a low murmur of sound.  “Do you think the pleasure of your company isn’t a reason?”

“Well, naturally, dear, but usually the company is a means to an end, not the end goal,” he said flippantly, not liking the direction of the conversation.

“Not for me,” Zynatheri replied, voice slow and casual.  “I’m a very simple creature at heart, Astarion.  I do what I enjoy.  I enjoy your company.”

 He couldn’t keep the frustration from his voice any longer, the odd uncomfortable anger he’d been feeling all evening when all he wanted was to relax.  His voice sharpened, body restless.  “There’s nothing down here, don’t you understand that?  No fine food, wine, society, no safe audience for your pretty songs but me.  It’s dark, cold, and empty.  Dangerous.  Every luxury I could possibly give you is something you’ve given to me.”

The comfort was unwanted now, meaningless in the face of his internal strife.  Astarion rose to his feet abruptly, pacing across the floor with frustration in every stride. He glanced at her, but it only made him feel badly, the rejected hand still in the air, her patient stare.  Why was she doing this?  Why did she keep wandering into his life only to leave?

It drove him absolutely mad.

Her voice was frustratingly calm.  “I feel like even if I said those don’t matter, you’d still feel otherwise.  Why is that?”

All of the frustration and annoyance he hadn't felt towards his siblings seemed to have turned on her, rising with the tone of his voice as Astarion whipped around to stare down at her.  “Because my mind keeps telling me all I would have to do is seduce you to keep you by my side, and I don’t want to do that any longer!  But without that…what?  What? What do I have to give you?!”

She watched him from the daybed still, cheek lowering to pillow on her arm, silver eyes turned up towards him.  There was the faintest hint of a smile on her face.  Infuriating wretch.

“What are you smirking at?!”

“Have you forgotten how to court someone without sex?” she asked, voice teasing him.

It was so unexpected that his anger lost its momentum immediately.  She– “Court– who said anything about courtship?”

“Isn’t that what you’re asking?  You want me to stay.  You want me to sing for you and coddle and spoil and flatter you– take care of you.  So…figure out how to make me want to stay, then.  And no, I don’t want to sleep with you either.  To make me be a part of degrading you in a way you’re finally free of just as an attempt to placate me…I’d never forgive myself.”

“Just– ugh.  Just because it isn’t about sex doesn’t mean it’s romantic.”

“No, it doesn’t have to be romantic…but it is,” she replied, fingers splaying against her cheek.  “I’m not going to pretend it’s not.  You’ve shown me what you have to offer me, told me why it’s not good enough, but I disagree.  I like what we have for what it is.”

“Yes, but that won’t get you to stay,” he insisted awkwardly.

“It might.”

Finally he had to avert his gaze, unease overtaking anger.  His emotions were confusing, shame and discomfort and disbelief that she was saying it at all.  But she was.  “You mean that, don’t you.”

“Just think about it.”  

He shouldn’t resent something as simple as her standing up, but he did.  Astarion knew she was leaving.  The last thing he’d wanted was to stew in his own mind like this, but it seemed his mind didn’t care.

“I’m going to go find the twins,” she said, confirming it.  “I think if you contacted our daughter, she’d be more than happy to help you.  But if you need somewhere to start…”  She grimaced, heaving her hair forward over her shoulder.  “You could learn to braid.  Rest well.  I’ll see you first thing in the evening, hmm?”

“I can’t help but feel as if I’m being punished for being honest,” he admitted, despite knowing it wasn’t true.

“I can see why it might feel that way.  But we’ve been dancing around in this gray area for a while, so it’s probably time to figure things out.  You were right to say something.”

“You’ve done a wonderful job of putting this all on my shoulders,” he pointed out, wishing she’d give him some damned indication of how she felt about it all.

She glanced over her shoulder and stuck her tongue out at him, and then smiled impishly.  “How much have I been doing for you lately?  Tsk.  The nerve of you.” 

“Well, how do I know you’re not this sweet to everyone?”  He gave her an aggrieved pout, crossing his arms.  “Maybe I’m not special.”

“You are.”

“And how many beautiful former lovers have you said that to over the years, I wonder.”

She smiled faintly.  “Ask Lilithera.  Sweet dreams.”

Well, it seemed she was determined to go.  As much as he wanted to shout at her, leaving things on a bad note would make their next meeting unpleasant instead of restful.  Right now, those crumbs of rest were all that was keeping him sane. 

And he wasn't going to lie and claim he didn't desperately want the blood she was offering.

“Sweet dreams, little nightingale.”

Zynatheri’s good mood was unabated, glancing over her shoulder with a wink at him on her way to the door.  “You sound so sulky,” she teased.

“Begone,” he ordered her irritably, throwing himself down on the daybed she’d abandoned.

Despite the fact that this room was no longer empty, her laughter still echoed long after she’d left.

[solasan]

mollie can you please spare some facts about your bg3 ocs? they all seem so 🥺💖

aaaaaa sophie tysm 🥺 i would be HAPPY to spare some facts abt them (im still working on the ask meme u sent me im sowwy <333) buckle up tho bc theres.... four of them lol 🤪

so estrilda nerezac is my most recent tav. she's a draconic bloodline sorcerer from the noble house nerezac (descended from a gold dragon named solarien) and is, fittingly, the proudest of all my tavs with a nice little (big) superiority complex to boot. she has the thickest french accent which doesn't matter but i love. her family's flitted about a lot in the last few generations (sun elves amirite) but they returned from evermeet in the 1360s, when estie was about 10, and settled in silverymoon. that makes her roughly 140 years old by the time of bg3, so she's Lived A Life in that time. she'd just recently agreed to take a husband from one of the other sun elf noble houses in silverymoon and was on the road to everlund with her older brother valoran to look at wedding dresses when the nautiloid took them. valoran is successfully turned into a mindflayer while they're on-board 😔

she romances gale and they spend most of their time together by turns either competing with each other (my magic is better than your magic) or having some surprising moments of understanding & comfort lol. they end up married and settling down in waterdeep (which her family has their issues with) and having a couple of kids. estie unfortunately will outlive him but im trying not to think abt that haha.

then there's alarice silversong, who's a college of swords bard. she was raised by four "mothers" in a brothel (only 1 of them was her mother by blood, but they all looked after her) in the lower city of baldur's gate. birth name was alice. fell in love with music as a child bc she was expected to play the lute for the brothel's patrons on the main floor. after 3 of her moms died, she ended up on the streets, where she became quite the accomplished little pickpocket and eventually joined the guild. nine-fingers became a sort of mother figure to her — which is why she's so pissed that alarice ran off with loot from duke ravengard, blowing an operation wide open and getting multiple guild members killed before the nautiloid grabbed her. despite being selfish & greedy & an incorrigible liar, alarice is charismatic & fun, so she's good at drawing people in. lonely tho.

her and astarion have a lot of similar issues, so their romance is a lot of learning to recognise and love yourself through the other &lt;3

next is callista lomarel, a cleric of selûne native to baldur's gate. she was abandoned on the steps of the house of the moonmaiden when she was only a couple of days old, bc her (noble) family were all human and she popped out purple with a tail, so. that's all she really knows about her past for the most part, which she pretends to be ok with, but curiosity and abandonment issues do haunt her a lot. she was raised in the faith, an acolyte in the same place she was abandoned at, and maybe she was never loved in the way that most children are loved by their parents, but she felt the love of selûne every day of her life and became a very dedicated cleric. she didn't really leave the house of the moonmaiden (making her very naive and ignorant to the ways of the world) until the day she was taken by the nautiloid. she's super sweet and gentle, very kind, looks after everyone around her. baby.

she romances shadowheart <333 while shadowheart goes into the romance trying to convert her to shar (lol SIKE for her), callista just... sees good in her and can't stop seeing it, no matter how much she wishes she could sometimes. they r very cute girlfriends by the end. shadowheart's callista's first lover ever so it's a learning curve for her but yeah. <3

and then the tav that i know the least about is izevel (no surname), who's a half-drow great old one warlock and my dark urge tav <3 i haven't played huge amounts of her and i dont want to spoil the durge for myself so i rly don't have much to say except that i think she's going to romance wyll and she tries very hard to be a good person despite her fucked up urges. cant wait to eventually get to her full playthrough LOL

[night-filled-mountain]

Captivity and Escape in Critical Role

So this post has been sitting in my drafts for about half a year. It’s about a persistent theme I noticed throughout campaign 2, which I’m sure others have noticed and written about before, but parallels and recurring themes have always been my Thing, and I couldn’t let it go. And with last week’s episode, and the campaign finale airing tonight, and the dominance of this theme being more glaringly obvious than ever, I thought I’d just give myself a treat and finish up a giant meta post. For old times’ sake.

So, just for the heck of it, here’s an exhaustive exploration of a single through-line of campaign 2 since the very beginning: captivity, and escaping or being freed from it.

Let’s start by taking a quick look at everyone’s backstories, the things that happened to them before the campaign even started, and how they were ultimately resolved. 

FJORD: Entered unknowingly and unwillingly into a pact with Uk’otoa, which bound him to perform services he never agreed to in exchange for powers he never asked for. Fjord did not know how he got into this pact or how to get out of it. He makes his escape when he pitches his sword into a lava river and pledges himself to the Wildmother.

JESTER: Spent the majority of her life “locked in her room” (or at least hidden from sight) until the consequences of one of her pranks forcibly liberated her into the wider world. While Jester loves her mother dearly and thinks of her long “captivity” as being for her own protection, its negative effects on her--loneliness, insecurity, a lack of worldly experience and social awareness--were still apparent, and she spends much of the campaign working through them.

BEAU: Her parents had her kidnapped by monks. It could be argued that even before the kidnapping, she was a prisoner to her father’s “over-protective” tendencies and her parents’ expectations when it came to her career, behavior, gender role, etc. But most significantly, she was very much kidnapped by monks, and made her escape from the Cobalt Soul shortly before we met her.

CALEB: Where to start? First he suffered coercion and abuse at the hands of Trent (a form of captivity); then he was made to torture and execute prisoners; then he spent eleven years literally imprisoned in an asylum, and had to kill and steal in order to escape; and four and a half years later, he met Nott when they were both thrown in jail (and had to engineer their own escape once again). Caleb’s ordeals ultimately made him a prisoner of his own guilt and fear, and escaping that prison has been the heart of his storyline.

VETH/NOTT: Besides the aforementioned stint in jail, the catalyst for her entire adventuring career was being captured by goblins along with her family--and then, after engineering the escape of her husband and son, being imprisoned in the wrong body (and subsequently enslaved!). The desire to escape from this second imprisonment was her driving motivation through much of the campaign. With Caleb’s help (and Essek’s, and Jester’s), she ultimately succeeds.

MOLLY: His first memory was of clawing his way out of a grave, which is just about as extreme a form of captivity and escape as you can get. More subtly, he was also a prisoner to the expectations placed on his body--to the life that body once lived, which he could not remember and refused to claim. Arguably (and tragically), his escape from this particular prison is his own death...until Cree resurrects Lucien, Mollymauk fragment and all. Then he presumably becomes a prisoner much like Yasha was, subsumed body and soul by a mind and a will that are not his own. Until last week.

... (incoherent sobbing)

Until last week.

YASHA: She was a prisoner to her clan’s laws and expectations. Her brief attempt to escape this prison through a forbidden marriage ended tragically, and then she was forced to make a second, literal escape (fleeing into the desert)--only to be (presumably) possessed by Obann, imprisoned inside her own mind, and forced to do his bidding until the Storm Lord liberated her once again.

CADUCEUS: When the gang first meet him, he’s literally a prisoner of his own fear (and/or inertia)--though his whole family has left the Blooming Grove, he’s been too afraid or hesitant to brave the corruption of the Savalirwood without companionship, and spent years isolated in the family temple as a result. The Mighty Nein (or rather, Caleb, Nott, Beau, Keg, and Nila) initiate his escape.

***

And that’s just the backstories! Now let’s take a look at each of the places the Mighty Nein have visited since they came together, and the story arcs therein.

***

TROSTENWALD - CARNIVAL ARC: This arc’s entire goal is to free the (future) Mighty Nein and the other carnies from jail or house arrest. (Much later, the M9 come back to pay Gustav’s debt and liberate him as well.) And remember that Beau is especially sympathetic to Toya’s predicament because she, too, was once a young girl held somewhere against her will.

ALFIELD - GNOLL ARC: This arc’s entire goal is to free the citizens of Alfield who have been kidnapped by gnolls to feed to their manticore leader (and to kill off the gnolls and manticore to keep it from happening again).

ZADASH: The Mighty Nein’s first undertaking in Zadash is to kill off the giant spiders in the sewer. In the process, they free a halfling imprisoned in a spiderweb, which leads them to the Gentleman and all his future quests.

Aside from that, their biggest job in Zadash this time around is the High Richter heist--which, yes, is a mercenary/political job that goes terribly wrong, but why does it go terribly wrong? Because Ulog, the M9′s NPC ally at the time, is so furious over his wife being wrongfully imprisoned by the High Richter that he impulsively blows up both her and himself. And arguably the most poignant moment in the heist’s aftermath is Caleb speaking to the next High Richter, Dolan, and ensuring that Ulog’s wife will be freed.

Also, let’s not forget the drow the M9 meet in the sewer. The one they capture, interrogate, and ultimately...let go. Yes, he’s killed shortly afterward and his beacon falls into their hands, but I think it’s very important to remember that the decision they make, when holding a captive terrorist from an “enemy” nation, is to return his stolen artifact to him and let him walk away free.

LABENDA SWAMP/BERLEBEN: The most memorable events during this interlude are: (1.) The M9 literally freeing Kiri from the swamp, where she is stuck in the mud and at the mercy of crocodiles, and (2.) Bowlgate, a.k.a. Caleb and Beau’s tense confrontation over what to do with Calianna, which is once again fueled on Beau’s side by her sympathy for a young woman held against her will. (Caleb proposes that Cali spend the night with the M9, which she did not intend, so they can use spells to determine her truthfulness the next day.)

HUPPERDOOK: This one’s obvious: The M9 fight a deadly automaton to free two gnomes from prison and reunite them with their children (largely to prevent said children from being taken to an orphanage against their will).

GLORY RUN ROAD/SHADYCREEK RUN - IRON SHEPHERDS ARC: ...Even more obvious. The sole goal of the remaining M9 members (and Nila) throughout this arc is to free their friends from slavery. They end up slaughtering all the slavers and freeing several other captives as well.

LUSIDIAN OCEAN - PIRATE ARC: Here’s where things get really interesting. Because this whole arc is also about captivity and freedom, isn’t it?

It’s about whether or not to free a little old captive named Uk’otoa!

I haven’t given nearly enough thought to how this arc fits in with all the others thematically, considering its central lesson is that freeing this particular captive would be a very bad thing. I do think it’s significant that:

(1.) The beginning of this arc, which leaves the whole party feeling so bad and icky, involves them quite inadvertently taking a captive of their own--and one whom they don’t treat very well. (And still don’t, for that matter...poor Marius.)

(2.) Soon after that incident, the M9 are themselves effectively taken captive by Avantika and her crew. This situation doesn’t last nearly as long as many audience members (and quite possibly Matt, and quite possibly the players themselves!) thought it would, because they panic on Darktow, go all Wall of Fire, and free themselves in a huge, climactic, desperate battle. The Mighty Nein do not take well to captivity.

Anyhow, they follow all this up with...

FELDERWIN/XHORHAS - YEZA ARC: ...another very straightforward quest to free a captive. Not only is this arc all about rescuing Yeza from a Xhorhasian dungeon, but after Caleb returns the beacon, after the Bright Queen of Xhorhas offers the Mighty Nein anything they want...all they ask her for is to let them go.

BAZZOXAN & BEYOND - OBANN ARC: ...By now, you know where I’m going with this, right? The entire arc is about freeing Yasha from Obann, who has her imprisoned inside her own body, inside her own mind. There’s a reason That Moment in the cathedral hit so hard, right? “And as you close your eyes, you see yourself breaking the shackles. You see the influence no longer holding any sway over your soul. There's nothing but the storm, vengeance, and hope.”

(Bonus: In the middle of the above arc, we get the HAPPY FUN BALL - RESCUING YUSSA ARC, which, once again, is devoted to freeing a captive.)

KAMORDAH/CYRIOS MOUNTAINS - ISHARNAI ARC: Aimed entirely at freeing Nott from the body in which she was imprisoned. Beau also has a bit of a freedom arc here: confronting the parents who imprisoned her figuratively and literally, turning her back on them (possibly for good), and then confronting a major source of the expectations and superstitions they shackled her with: Isharnai, who is neutralized by Jester’s cupcake.

THE MENAGERIE - CLAY ARC: Aimed entirely at freeing Caduceus’s family, who are imprisoned in perhaps the most literal way possible, being turned to stone. (The M9 also manage to liberate the Stone family while they’re at it.)

RUMBLECUSP - TRAVELER CON: Two great liberations take place here. First, all the residents of the Village of Vo are freed from Vokodo’s influence, their memories restored, their blind devotion dispelled, able once again to choose the course of their own lives. Second, the followers of the Traveler are freed from the deception he’s imposed on them, the cult he’s roped them into. Thanks to the Moonweaver’s interference, they, too, are free to make informed decisions. And I think we can also safely say that Artagan is freed from them, from the false “god” role he managed to box himself into, and he’s happier for it.

EISELCROSS - SOMNOVEM ARC: ...And this is it, folks. This is why I decided to finish this post today. Because I was openly not feeling the Eiselcross arc as an endgame. The hard slog through the elements just wasn’t doing it for me, or the frequent combat, or the increasingly complex lore, or the traditionally heroic quest to save the world from being swallowed by a monstrous city.

...Until last week. Until Lucien’s defeat. And Molly’s oh-so-improbable resurrection.

When I heard all the voices of the Somnovem whispering “Thank you” as their individual souls were freed from the Lovecraftian hivemind...when I heard Jester sobbing that at least Molly’s soul wasn’t “trapped” inside a monstrous Lucien anymore...when Cad’s Divine Intervention succeeded, and Mollymauk Tealeaf opened his eyes--his two plain old natural eyes--unburdened by Lucien and his Somnovem eyes and all of his dark baggage for the first time--I was finally able to embrace this as the ending.

Because it’s not about saving the world. That’s just a bonus. It’s about saving a friend. Freeing a friend. Freeing captives, wherever they find them. Whether from Crown’s Guard, gnolls, and giant spiders, or from royal dungeons; whether from ruthless enemies or from their own families; whether from eldritch abominations or from the forces that chain their own minds.

In the end, the Mighty Nein--and the people whose lives they touch--belong to no one and nothing that they do not choose to belong to. They belong to themselves, to the people they most sincerely love, to the gods and causes they have chosen freely. And that has always, always been my favorite kind of story.

And I can’t wait for tonight.

[maydaymadier]

Time

[Disclaimer: I’m currently slightly more than halfway through the c2 finale and I’m going to try and avoid spoilers since well, there’s still like 3hrs of content to get spoiled on.  Will likely crosspost to my ao3]

“Time, it takes time, not days or weeks or years.  Time.”

Caleb Widogast was right, though to be precise it takes 100 consecutive days of inscribing a teleportation circle in the same place to make it permanent.  Nicodranas was the first teleportation circle Essek Thelyss finished.  100 days of pounding sun and coastal heat felt fitting to start his time.  He had his trepidations about better acquainting himself with Yussa, less so with Ms. Lavorre.  The Nein asked why he needed to make a teleportation circle in Nicodranas, they already had access to Tidepeak Tower’s.  ‘Yes, however, we will not have to give anyone advance notice to use our own.’  

Jester made something of a habit of bringing him a new parasol or sunhat each time she visited, even brought him tinted glasses she found once.  If he knew she was coming he’d make sure to wear one of them.  

Each time he ran out of chalk he’d wrap himself in illusion and teleport himself to Zadash.  Meanwhile, the stores in his towers grew dust-laden, his absence from the Dynasty more suspicious, and he bought his chalk from Enchanter Sol.  The Mighty Nein were a family, regardless of any distance, and he had the means to make distance mean nothing.  So Essek Thelyss carried on.  And on the hundredth day, he stepped into a circle in Nicodranas and stepped out in the Blooming Grove.

He was invited in for tea, as expected, and accepted as was polite.  The next day he found the spot behind the temple where the grass had been flattened by the circle delivering him and started his next hundred days.  He ‘compensated’ for his intrusion with his floating meditative guard each night.  Caduceus seemed to pick up on what he was doing faster than Jester had, by a thin margin.  The remaining Clay children would poke their noses in once and a while, curious about their drow visitor they’d only met briefly before but they remembered him helping garden after Ikithon set the temple ablaze.  They would offer him a plate at meals, he insisted on using his own rations in a strange dance of hospitality and being a polite guest.  

At one point, after finishing the day’s circle he considered venturing through the Savalirwood to Glory Run Road, find Mollymauk’s grave.  But it felt disrespectful to Kingsley somehow in a way he couldn’t articulate.  If he were to be more dramatic it felt like an invasion of privacy to the rest of the Nein as a whole, intruding on a moment on a place where they were unknowing adversaries.  So he kept inscribing circles in the grass and sometimes he found fresh chalk in his component pouch.  On occasion, Caduceus found saplings and cuttings of Xorhasian plants on his windowsill.

On the hundredth day he stepped into the circle in the Blooming Grove and came out under Caduceus’s tree in the Xorhaus.  He was far more careful with this one.  The Xorhaus was sparsely used, bordering on abandoned at this point, more than ready for the Nein to inhabit it once again.  Beauregard, oft accompanied by Yasha, used it the most for when they visited Rosohna on Cobalt Soul business.  The Bright Queen had been more than amenable to working with the Soul once she knew they were dismantling the organization that had stolen the beacons.  

Though it took three days before Beau realized he was working on making a circle on the roof, pruning away his extra time by trying to tame the garden, clad in his rose-patterned gardening gloves, what with his lackluster previous experience.  She offered to go bring him chalk from his towers, anything else he might need that he’d left behind when he was posted in Eiselcross.  He accepted the offer, to eschew suspicion, asking for some simple components that filled any wizard’s pouch.  Sooner than later, soon enough Beau couldn’t knock the truth out of him (not that she needed to do that or would, he was growing increasingly susceptible to disappointed stares from his friends) he stepped into the circle in Rosohna and stepped out in Rexxentrum.

His skin crawled and felt like it would slough off with each passing day.  He wasn’t so bold at this point to attempt and make a circle on Soltryce’s grounds but he did take pleasure in chipping away the next hundred days in the courtyard of Trent Ikithon’s now abandoned tower.  It was a joy, absolutely cathartic tearing apart what little remained hidden away of the bastard’s stores.  The most valuable and precious artifacts and components were hidden in ways only an archmage would even know about or know how to unlock.  Malicious clumsiness might have gotten him to break an important, now inert, magical tool or two as he rummaged through the tower for chalk.  

Though one day, he noticed an owl perched in a tree, watch him for an hour, disappear for a few minutes, reappear, so on and so forth for the whole day.  He had a good idea who the owl was but she never watched him again after that.  If she wanted to know what he was doing here, fine.  It wasn’t like either could rat out the other without drawing unwanted attention to them both.  So on the hundredth day, what little remained of Trent Ikithon’s personal study even more thoroughly destroyed, he stepped into the circle in Rosohna and stepped out.

Essek chipped away at the for now final circle under the watchful light of Pelor.  Passively, the part of him that absorbed every ounce of knowledge, regardless if he cared or not, wondered what the connection may be between whatever the Luxon is and the Dawnfather.  Just a fun little thought experiment to occupy him while he worked through the next hundred days.

By the end of Brussendar, with Highsummer fast approaching, he’d decided that he ought to have brought at least one of Jester’s hats.  Though more importantly he’d decided that the thought was silly and any connection between the two deities must be entirely aesthetic.  Nothing he didn’t already know but what else can a wizard do but overthink?

It wasn’t the same level of festivities he’d heard about with Harvest’s Close but Highsummer seemed to be the close second in Blumenthal.  He sat, disguised in the shade of an oak probably as old as he was and simply watched from afar.  Somewhere in the crowd, he saw a flash of copper.  Tried not to think to much of it.  Red hair seemed slightly more common in this corner of the empire.  He caught the sweeping arc of a long, striped scarf being tossed over a shoulder.  A leather coat dusting at the ground (though he had looked so good in purple).

Caleb Widogast stepped out of the crowd and sat under the oak with him, “I suppose a criminal always returns to the scene of the crime.” “I suppose I have,” Essek stared at his feet. Caleb offered him some sort of sweet roll wrapped in paper, “I was not talking about you.” He ignored the comment, “How long has it been?  Since we last spoke.” “Four hundred and eighty-six days.  About a year and a half to be informal,” he just set down the roll next to his hand when he didn’t move to take it. “I keep thinking one day it will have been enough time.” “Looking for the specific number will drive you mad.  Are you just going to keep making circles across Wildemount until you feel that you’ve atoned?” Essek took the roll but only held it,  “I know that I cannot make up for everything.  What are you doing here, anyways?” “I have been trying to convince myself to visit.  Maybe try to pay my respects if I can stomach it.  The others had already told me what you were doing, but Astrid told me where you were going.  Figured now was good a time as any,” his expression darkened, the reality beyond the afterglow of a hard-won victory whispering into both their ears. “I-,” Essek started. “Did you know I was from here before you picked it or did you just want to taunt Rexxentrum by hiding in their breadbasket for a while?” Caleb stared him down. “I knew.” “Alright then.” “I hope I have not intruded in some way by coming here.” “I suppose we were both curious about the echo.  It’s right up your alley, prodigious dunamancer and whatnot,” Caleb glanced back up at the revelers before turning his attention back to him “I would not discount your own skill, you’ve picked up dunamancy quite quickly and with a level of skill I have rarely seen.”  Maybe they can just talk about magic. “Danke.” There was an uncomfortable pause in the conversation.

“When do you think-?” Essek tried asking. “I don’t.  I will not pretend to know when enough time will have passed for the past not to hurt us anymore, Essek.  And counting it in teleportation circles will not make it go any faster,” he said, though with the crushing sadness to his eyes of a man who wished he were wrong. “I am trying to make it easier for us to see each other,” he said with easy authority. “It is much easier to see each other when we don’t run off to the four corners,” Caleb added on with a tired chuckle. “What are you implying?”  Something caught between excitement and unease hit him. “I can stay.  Help you finish the circle here, we can leave, make another.  As many circles as we want.  We can have the continent at our fingertips.  Maybe even go back to what remains of Aeor in Eiselcross.  Devexian couldn’t have been the only mechanical inhabitant.  For all we know there is a city of automatons underneath the ice now,” Caleb got more excited and dreamy as he went on, the unbridled excitement of a mage faced with knowledge. “That sounds...nice...,” Essek trailed off, trying to sound as neutral as he could manage. “Do you want that, Essek?”

It felt like the word was tearing its way out of him, “Yes.”

[saphirered]

Fight For Dessert?

And here it finally is, part two to the last Essek x Eldritch Knight reader request. 

A walk through the streets of Rosohna did you good but Essek was still refusing to let you go anywhere isolated with him without supervision besides his home or the Xhorhaus after the whole ordeal with the Volstruckers. The presence of the Aurora Watch brought him more comfort than it ever had done. Not for himself but the sense of security that you wouldn’t be alone if trouble found you. 

The two of you walk or float perhaps a little bit closer than may be socially acceptable but neither of you seem aware or care enough. A guard of the Aurora Watch rushes over to you a little out of breath and gives a short bow to both you and Essek. 

“What is it?” Essek asks in a tone befitting of the Shadowhand, demeanour changing to a more cold and distant one at the approach of the guard. 

“A message for you Shadowhand. And one for the Knight.” The guard holds out two delicate envelopes stamped with a deep purple seal, names written in beautiful cursive. You take the one addressed to you with a confused look and can see a hint of annoyance from Essek. 

“You may go now.” Essek dismisses the guard who keeps waiting. 

“My apologies, Shadowhand. I was instructed to await your answers.” The guard looks to the envelopes. Essek takes his and opens it as well reading it. His expression does not change. 

‘You have been graciously invited to attend a formal dinner in your honour at the estate of Den Thelyss tonight.’

“Essek?” You give him a glance allowing him to see the invitation. Essek shows you his invitation too. His has and additional note; ‘bring your friend’. You see Essek lift his chin with a deep sigh giving the guard a bit of a glare.

“Please tell my mother-“ Seeing where this is going you cut him off.

“-that we accept her gracious invitation, isn’t that right, Essek.” You would have stepped on his foot to shut him up if he weren’t floating. Essek gives you a surprised look as the guard nods, excuses himself and hurries off. 

“Why would you…” Essek doesn’t finish the question. 

“Because even I know you simply do not refuse an invite from nobility let alone a Denmother, your mother no less.” He can’t deny. You have a point. 

So there you are, dressed in the fanciest clothes gold could buy in such a short period of time, courtesy of Jester and her impeccable taste. The fine silks in hues of purple, dark blues, black and silver made you stand out in the crowd for sure if it weren’t the design itself, like it was made for you. Many garments were tried on. None but this passed Jester’s approval. Luckily for you the outfit wasn’t so heavy or tight you couldn’t even lift your arms, or would feel like you were carrying both Fjord and Caduceus on your back. You had your full range of motion and a perfect fit. 

Essek escorted you to the estate which is every bit as grand and impressive as you expected it to be. You’re a bit on edge and nervous. It’s not every day one gets such an invitation, let alone one by the family your ‘friend’ belongs to. 

“You are calmer ahead of battle than you are attending dinner. I do not think I have ever seen you this on edge.” Essek couldn’t keep his observation to himself. It’s quite a funny one in his eyes. You’d be prepared to walk into a moorbounder nest no hesitation and no fear yet a social gathering is enough to nearly throw you off your feet and have you panic. 

“Don’t laugh! Not all of us have spent our lives making friends with the leaders of nations.” He stops, you with him and turns to you. 

“And yet I doubt that’s what unnerves you so.” He places his hands on your shoulders as you take a deep breath. 

“What if she doesn’t like me? Or if she doesn’t approve your blatant admiration of me?” You manage to lighten the mood with your last question. 

“If my mother didn’t approve of you she would never have invited both of us to dinner. As for my ‘blatant admiration of you’, as you put it, I think it is more than deserved after everything.” Essek looks around seeing no one but the guards in front of the estate and pulls you into his embrace. 

“You’ll do perfectly. My mother will love you just as much as I.” He speaks as you return the hug. Pulling apart he offers his arm and the two of you make your way through the gates. 

“You’re biased.” You whisper as the guards open the doors for the two of you.

“I am. So what?” You scoff at the wizard’s answer as you enter Essek’s childhood home. 

Worked stone, stained glass windows and geometric designs make up the majority of the structure. It’s quite beautiful and comes close to what you expect a private palace might look like. Though, you didn’t expect any less from one of the most prominent and well respected Dens in the Dynasty. Your eyes wander taking in the beautiful art work displayed within the foyer alone. You can’t begin to imagine what the rest of the building looks like. 

Walking down the stairs as the servants take your and Essek’s cloaks, is the Denmother herself in all her glory. You can see the family resemblance and are taken aback by the sheer presence the woman radiates. Sensing you panic as you resist the urge to gulp Essek pats your arm leading you forward. 

You take a deep breath. For the first time you feel like the roles are reversed, Essek being your support and saviour when you’re in need instead of the other way around. He keeps you grounded. You squeeze his arm linked through yours in a quick thank you. 

It’s no different from a battle. Except your sword has been exchanged for your wit and your words are your weapon and shield. The strategy remains. You can do this. You got this. The words echo in your head only to realise Essek whispered them. You nod. You got this. 

Essek and you meet Deirta at the bottom of the stairs. You offer a brief bow in respect, returned with a bow of the head and a smile. 

“Welcome. It is a pleasure to finally meet you in person. My son speaks very highly of you. I am Deirta Thelyss.” Deirta takes the lead, you and Essek following into the dining room. 

A large table enough to fit half the court alone, houses only four chairs, one at the head, two on one side and a single one at the other. The table is set for four, plates, cutlery, beautiful glasses and everything. Leaning on one of the chairs is a handsome drow, dressed appropriately for the dinner bearing the vestiges of a Taskhand, or at least so you’ve been told. This drow, while elvish age might be more difficult to pinpoint seems to be a bit younger than Essek and shares similar features. A sibling perhaps? Essek doesn’t really talk about his family much. 

Essek guides you along to the two chairs next to each other, one of which the other man is leaning on. The man raises to a more proper stature and bows to you. 

“My, my, you must be my dear brother’s heroic saviour. Taskhand Verin Thelyss. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Verin pulls out the chair next to the one he was leaning on and offers it to you. You unlink your arm from Essek’s and take a seat thanking the Taskhand. Before Verin can, Essek takes the seat next to you at the right hand of the Denmother. Verin sends him a glare but Essek looks on innocently. Sibling rivalry? You’ll never let him hear the end if this goes on.

“Don’t look so glum, Verin. It doesn’t suit you.” You raise an eyebrow at Essek’s comment as Verin takes the seat opposite of his brother and Deirta takes hers. 

“And pomposity suits you perfectly brother.” Verin raises his glass.

“Children. No bickering at my table. We have a guest.” Deirta smiles at you as servants fill your glasses and uncover the plates set out in front of you to reveal a delicious looking meal. 

“Thank you for joining us tonight. I’m grateful you were able to accept my invitation on such short notice. When my son speaks about your exploits he tends to leave out the mortal danger of it all and I have to learn from others the details of the risk you put yourself at to keep him safe. You have my eternal gratitude.” Deirta places a hand over her heart. 

“You talk about me?” You give Essek a look and can just see the tiniest of blushes creep on his face for just a second as he tries to repress it. 

“Gushes on about you really, singing your praises. ‘Such an intelligence, a fast learner, strong and clever’. It never ends.” Essek glares at Verin as you lean into the arm of your chair giving him an ‘oh really’ look waiting for him to come up with some clever comment or witty remark in return to deflect from the fact he’s not been subtile about his affections towards you around his family. 

“I only shared my conclusions based on the information and evidence provided to me first hand.” 

“I believe that’s what us common folk would call ‘an opinion’, darling.” You laugh amused by the whole situation. You earned a snort from Verin with your comment. Deirta looks between the three of you before turning her attention back to you directly.

“I heard you had gotten rather seriously injured. I hope you’ve recovered well enough?” Deirta asks. 

“I have thanks to my rather talented healer friends. Though if it were not for Essek’s quick response getting them, things may have played out very differently.” You praise the wizard next to you trying to put him a bit more at ease and give him something to return fire if he has to against his brother, letting him know you have his side still. Esseks gives you a thankful smile. 

“So you’re recovered then?” Verin’s expression turns a bit more mischievous and you can see Deirta giving him a scolding look. 

“I am according to my clerics, though I feel they held off on my release from bedrest and confinement to the house for several days. It’s good to be out and about again. I’ve missed it, even though the company has been good I definitely missed being allowed to swing a sword and throw a  proper punch.” Verin’s smile grows. 

“Since you’re good to fight again, how about you show me what you’re made off? How much of my brother’s opinions prove true?” 

“Verin.” Both Essek and Deirta warn each for different reasons.

“Oh come on, I’m merely joking. Unless you’d take me up on the offer of course.” Verin gives you an innocent look you’ve seen so many times on Essek. Plausible deniability apparently runs in the family. 

You lean your elbows on the table, clasping your hands together. Essek mutters an ‘oh no’ under his breath and takes a big gulp from his drink as you grin. 

“You want a fight? I’ll give you a fight.” You wink. 

“Verin need I remind you of your manners. We do not challenge guests to a fight over dinner.” Deirta scolds her son. 

“It’s just a bit of fun, mother.” Verin complains and where he not presenting himself as a renowned official and the person he is, it might have sounded like the plea of a child being told no. 

“I would not wish to overstep any boundaries and forgo all rules of social engagement. Nor do I wish to ruin a perfectly pleasant evening, Denmother. Perhaps another time, Verin?” You earn the Denmother’s approval as she says something to Verin in Undercommon you do not understand but by the tone of her voice alone and Verin’s response you can tell it’s probably not positive. 

Essek sighs deeply next to you pinching the bridge of his nose as Deirta and Verin continue their argument. 

“Oh for the love of… Can you two please cease this useless fight. I’d much rather see Verin being put in his place than listen to this endless argument one more second. Thank you.” The two of them slowly quiet down when Essek speaks up. Verin gets up from his chair.

“It’s settled then, we’re all in agreement.” 

“We are not all in agreement but to cease this argument, very well. You have my permission.” Deirta concedes despite all better efforts.

“If you wish to take my son up on this fight you have my permission.” 

Before you know it you’re outside in what you can assume is Den Thelyss’ private gardens. It’s simple and large enough of an open space to not break anything in the near vicinity should things get ugly. Both of you drop the heavier and unnecessary layers of your outfits. You’re pulled aside by Essek before you walk into the fighting ring. 

“Not that I do not have full confidence you’ll win, but please do not get injured or I fear I might find my next cup of tea poisoned or my books desecrated.” Essek worries taking hold of your hands giving them a brief squeeze. 

“I’ll do my best to protect your precious books and keep any attempts of poisoning at bay. Now please excuse me while I go kick your brother’s ass.” You pat his cheek as you step back and into the makeshift fighting ring. Verin offers you a sword but you don’t take it. 

“I’ve brought my own.” You summon your trusty sword and earn a nod of approval from the drow.

“Nice trick.” The moment you’re ready Verin swings at you but you’ve lived this long thanks to your reflexes and step to the side with ease. You tap the blade of your sword against his to inch it out of your way as you go for a high strike giving Verin enough time to counter block. 

This isn’t a fight to the death and you’re not deliberately trying to seriously injure your opponent so you both hold back but you do get a glimpse of the soldier within Verin and see where he gets his reputation from. It’s earned. The ‘dance’ between you and Verin continues until it gets more competitive and the both of you come to a nonverbal understanding to find out who’s going to be the clear winner here. 

Verin summons his echo letting it come at you while putting some distance between you and him to give him the advantage. You’re quick to respond with a lightning lure. A satisfying grin visible as you pull Verin back within your range. You deflect a blow from the echo while kicking Verin’s wrist preventing his sword from striking you. Bringing your own sword around you cut the echo in half, turning it to wisps of shadow. You strike back with a hit directed at Verin. He dodges and comes around with a hit you use your blade to parry. Another echo comes in play but you pay it no mind having had enough of this back and forth. You grab the blade of Verin’s sword, not nearly tight enough to pierce your skin but just enough to hold it in place, drop your own sword and reach into your component pouch. 

You speak the familiar words and release the gold dust you re-summon your sword back to your hand and point it at Verin’s chest. Verin tries to pull the sword from the air but is unable to move it. 

“Do you concede?” Verin holds up his hands in surrender but you notice a glint in his eye. He quickly moves around the other side of the sword frozen in the air kicking at your leg. You toss your sword to the side, punch once to break his defence and another directly to the chest. Verin’s breath hitches and you kick his legs from under him. He groans, the air is knocked out of him as he lands on his back. You put your foot on his chest standing over him. He grabs it purely by instinct but loosens his grip quickly. 

“Very well. I concede.” Verin speaks out of breath. You remove your foot and offer him a hand pulling him back to his feet. From the stairs you hear a slow clap. Both of you look over to see Deirta standing next to an amused Essek. 

“Impressive. My son’s words have proven true. You have my approval.” The Denmother speaks rather indifferently but offers a smile no less before retreating back inside. 

“Perhaps one day we might fight side by side. I look forward to seeing you around more often.” Verin slaps a hand on your shoulder before he wanders off to clean up. Essek joins you, the two of you left alone in the gardens outside the building. 

“What just happened?” You ask confused about how you just gained the approval and respect of Verin and Deirta Thelyss. 

“They saw exactly why you have my affection.” You bump into Essek’s shoulder in a ‘shut up’ and he offers you a genuine smile. 

“I am that great, aren’t I?” You joke as the two of you begin making your way back inside. You’re still processing unsure of how to take and handle all of this. This was unexpected to say the least.

“And I’ve told you many times. I don’t plan to stop doing so either.” You give him a little side hug as you look around the abandoned remains of dinner being cleared off the table by the servants. 

“Is this how fancy dinners always go?” 

“Certainly not. Though, I can say watching my brother be put in his place certainly has been the highlight of my day, second to you showing off.” You both laugh as you’re ready to head back leaving the Thelyss estate behind you. Perhaps it’ll become a place you’ll visit more often. Though you’ll still always prefer the towers. And feeling some bruises form already, you have some books to protect from the wrath of a doodling tiefling. 

[snowsurvive-aa]

cassandra  &  the  arrival  of  her  children  [ prompted  by  @whyvernwind​ ]

in  cassandra’s  main  postcanon  verse ,  she  marries  @kynanleore​  and  has  four  children  with  him  --  two  adopted  and  two  biological .

theresa  “ tess ”  ava  paulina  de  rolo .     tess  was  one  of  the  refugees  sent  through  the  sun  tree  from  emon ,  a  little  half - drow  child  without  her  parents  --  and  far  from  the  only  one ,  at  that .     but  this  little  girl . . . attached  herself  to  cassandra  from  the  first  time  they  encountered  each  other ,  and  the  lady  couldn’t  find  it  in  herself  to  send  the  girl  away .     over  time ,  cassandra’s  affection  for  the  girl  began  to  grow ,  and  they  spent  more  time  together  as  time  went  on .     thinking  back  on  it ,  cass  isn’t  certain  when  she’d  started  thinking  of  tess  as  her  daughter ,  but  it  happened  --  her  noticing  it  really  when  cassandra  is  recovering  from  her  death  ( and  from  her  breakdown ,  a  year  later )  and  she  wants  to  be  able  to  take  care  of  the  girl  and  reassure  her  that  tess  hasn’t  done  anything  wrong ,  and  that  cassandra  still . . . still  loves  her .     while  engaged  to  kynan  ( a  year  after  her  breakdown  or  so ) ,  cassandra  sits  down  with  him  and  explains  that  she  wants  to  pursue  bringing  tess  home  to  them  for  good  --  and  he  agrees ,  and  later ,  when  asked ,  tess  agrees  as  well .     tess  legally  joins  their  family  after  cass  and  kynan  marry ,  and  cassandra  is  sometimes  surprised  with  how  right  it  feels  to  have  her  with  them .     tess  is  cassandra’s  child  in  literally  every  verse .

johanna “ josie ”  allura  de  rolo .     cassandra’s  realization  that  she  was  pregnant  with  josie  was . . . a  surprise ,  to  say  the  least ,  though  not  a  bad  one .     the  pregnancy  comes  right  on  the  heels  on  tess  joining  the  family ,  and  while  cassandra  was  delighted  with  the  soon - to - be  new  addition ,  she  was  worried  about  both  kynan’s  reaction  to  another  child  so  soon  after  the  first ,  and  tess’  reaction  to  having  to  share  so  soon  after  being  brought  home .     but  the  small  family  soon  binds  together  to  excitedly  anticipate  the  little  girl’s  arrival ,  and  getting  to  hold  josie  in  her  arms  for  the  first  time  is  privately  one  of  cassandra’s  favorite  memories ,  even  in  the  days  when  mother  and  daughter  vex  each  other .

julian  uriel  de  rolo .     the  first  that  cassandra  hears  of  julian  is  through  a  sending  spell  from  kynan  --  and ,  from  the  sound  of  her  husband’s  voice  when  he  describes  the  little  changeling  boy ,  cassandra  begins  to  love  him  just  as  much  as  kynan  seems  to  before  she  even  sees  him .     she  debriefs  their  daughters  before  the  baby  returns  with  his  father ,  and  the  three  are  waiting  together  to  meet  him  for  the  first  time .     when  julian  is  placed  into  her  arms  and  he  looks  up  at  her  with  eyes  that  change  color  to  match  her  own  as  he  smiles  at  her ,  he  wins  her  heart  on  sight .

shaun  jarett  de  rolo .     shaun  is  the  baby  of  the  family ,  and  comes  as  a  bit  of  a  surprise .     cassandra  is  on  her  own  when  she  realizes  that  she’s  pregnant  again ,  kynan  gone  on  a  mission  for  a  month  or  so . . . and  she  decides  to  wait  to  tell  him  until  he  returns  home .     he’s  her  delightful  little  secret  for  a  few  weeks  until  she  can  tell  his  father  ( not . . . not  really ,  to  be  honest ,  as  the  servants  very  quickly  figured  it  out  due  to  foods  she  was  asking  for  and  the  way  that  she  was  behaving ) .     the  second  she  holds  him  in  her  arms  for  the  first  time  and  he  looks  at  her  with  a  gaze  that’s  so  much  like  kynan’s ,     she  can’t  help  but  to  adore  him  immediately ,  and  continues  to  bear  a  soft  spot  for  him  due  to  that  resemblance .

[thegempage]

i was afraid to swim until you pulled me under

ao3 link; word count: 2389; finished hurloane/hurley x sloane fic

pls rb if you enjoyed!!

When people asked Hurley if she believed in love, she said sure. Anyone who pressed further asked why she didn’t have any for herself yet, got, it’s out there, just not for me. And for all the world, she looked content -- in a way, she was content in her view, if she didn’t dare to look into the threads of the words themselves. Didn’t dare think of what made up the bandages that held her heart together after the first two times it had broken. Didn’t dare to think of the dye that colored it, of when she tried to go deeper into love, of what she wanted to scream when people asked her about it.

Love drowns you, she wanted to scream. It’s an ocean you need a boat to survive and I can’t even swim.

(Maybe that was why she’d moved out to the desert.)

People usually dropped it before she could scream and left her on her island in the middle of that stormy sea, watching others play on the waves in their shining boats. She was content, she told herself. She didn’t need to swim or frolic on the waves. She had her work and a garden and that was all she’d ever need.

The universe, as it so often does, had other plans that she didn’t get the memo for.

Instead, she got something new.

A visitor to her island. A dancing shadow of a woman tauntingly close but impossible to catch. A half-elf, with eyes like the earth Hurley loved so much and a cloak of feathers that hid her in the darkness of the night. A criminal whose case was given entirely to Hurley after she’d expressed interest in her and her alone. A never-ending game of cat and mouse.

Hurley toed the tide for the first time since her second heartbreak. She wasn’t in love with the criminal, no, she’d never fall for someone who fell outside of the law (even if, in her quiet moments, she couldn’t make herself believe the rumors spread about where the criminal kept her money by the rich). But she fell in love with their chase, with the way the criminal managed to evade the rest of militia, the way she told Hurley her alias with a note and a feather tucked into her ponytail (It’s the Raven if you were wondering. You looked cute with the pixie). She fell in love with the thrill the Raven brought to her life -- but not the Raven herself. That’s what she told herself, even when she clutched her chest after a particular chase as her heart followed after the fleeing shape.

(And if she started maintaining her pixie cut again after that note, no one had to know why.)

Her visitor started appearing in the tides instead of on the beach as she got used to the waves lapping at her toes, just out of reach again.

The letters dragged her another step into the sea.  They started during the lull in the Raven’s activity, appearing on her windowsill when Hurley got home, tied with twine and ribbon. At first, they were casual, an admirer of her work and how she tried to change Goldcliff from the inside. Time passed and her pen pal grew closer to her. Hurley told the person on the other end things she’d never told anyone else: about her garden, about going to see the battlewagon races, about how she wished she could be properly face-to-face with the Raven just once, to look her in the eye and ask what she really did with what she took. Her pen pal set their own secrets in her hands: about their tiny home full of stray birds and children who came and went, about their participation in the races, about how they thought they were falling in love with someone who would never return the feelings, and how they saw their crossed star just often enough to keep the wound fresh and bleeding. One letter -- an invitation, really -- was sealed, not with the small feather drawing they’d been signing before, but with a kiss of black lipstick. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw it, and Hurley was in love with her pen pal.

(Or, rather, she let herself be in love with her pen pal.)

She was calf-deep in the waters that still terrified her, but the figure didn’t move as far away, and she had hope.

Two steps this time. At the insistence of her pen pal, she attended the biggest battlewagon race of the year, a masquerade mask with curling horns and little way to discern her face safely strapped on as she watched the carts rattle down the track. The letter was tucked against her chest, its words beating against her chest like heartbeats. I’ll win for you. You’ll know it’s me, promise. Her eyes were glued to first place, watching the title trade hands between crashing wagons and flying arrows. She couldn’t tell who was the person who had brought her here on danger of both their heads. A smaller, sleeker shape kept catching her eye, but after the third or fourth time it disappeared she disregarded it as a trick of her nerves.

At least, until it pulled into first place at a speed that earned a chorus of accusations. A bike-wagon, all black metal and bird motifs. A cloak of black feathers thrown across the shoulders of a slim figure. A mask in the shape of a raven’s head, more decorated than its twin but striking Hurley just the same. A moment of locked eyes, when the Raven looked straight at her and winked. A realization that stole her breath and painted her face red.

(Somehow, she knew this shouldn’t have been as surprising as it was, though she didn’t know why.)

Hurley was knee deep and staring into the eyes of her visitor, who sat under the waves and reached up.

She didn’t take the invitation right away. She waited where the crowd gathered to greet the winner as they all dispersed once the Raven had taken her winnings and gotten on her bike to speed away. Her mask still hid her face, a hood tugged over her hair to hide its carroty glow, and she had the patience of a flower awaiting spring. And, if somehow blessed by the gods, she knew exactly what she was going to say when the Raven came back, mask still strapped on, and stood on her bike in front of her.

“You came,” the Raven said.

“You asked,” Hurley replied.

A beat of silence. “So… when did you figure it out?” the Raven asked, parking her bike and getting off of it. “I’m… honestly, I’m surprised you didn’t… you didn’t rat me out a month ago.”

Hurley wrinkled her eyebrows. “What?”

“When did you figure out it was me?”

Another beat. “Just… just today,” Hurley said, halting as if she suspected that was the wrong answer.

“Today?”

“How could I have known who you were?”

The Raven’s mouth twitched and broke into a smile. She didn’t say anything else as she swallowed her laughter. Under her breath, “And here I thought I was being too obvious.”

Hurley huffed and pursed her lips, the laugh stinging even without full expression. For a moment, she considered taking her question and leaving this whole situation behind to run from the waves once again before she broke. The conflict was already brewing in her heart as the criminal she’d been chasing for months became her visitor and her trusted confidant. But as she looked up to tell the Raven to leave her alone, they locked eyes again, and the Raven’s face had melted into a kinder smile despite her eyes being full of panic. Her hands were twisted into her elbows, arms crossed in forced relaxation as she shook. Hurley could get her killed, and they both knew it. Hurley knew she wouldn’t; the Raven did not. Hurley opened her mouth, prepared to deny her, prepared to swear silence but nothing else.

“I want to race with you.”

The Raven looked like Hurley had just handed her the world.

Hurley had precious few seconds to take it back, to save herself, to get out of the waves and run. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. Not when the Raven’s smile grew giddy instead of cool and she coughed to regain her composure, or when she sputtered over a couple words before asking, “Really?” in a voice that didn’t fit any version of her in Hurley’s head.

“Yeah, really,” Hurley said, feeling her face heat up again behind the mask.

The Raven hesitated for a moment, but stepped forward and fell to her knees to sweep Hurley up in a hug. “I’ll show you the garage tomorrow,” she said as she pulled away. “I, um, I’ll come get you. Are you… working?”

Hurley shook her head, swallowing and explaining, “You’ve been quiet, so the captain has had me on standby.”

(That was a lie; she’d taken the day off on a hunch.)

The figure she’d been chasing -- the Raven, her pen pal, the beautiful woman who had such a tight grip on Hurley’s heart -- moved no farther away. Hurley took her hand and let her pull her under the waves, and it turned out she could swim just fine.

As promised, the Raven picked her up at her apartment early the next morning, scaling up to the window that faced her garden with a smile on her unmasked face -- which was, as Hurley had guessed, absolutely beautiful (though she may have been biased, since already in love with her), with floppy ears that echoed a drow and a pillow of long black hair streaked with white all framing a shining face. The garage was spacious, covered in parts of battlewagons that the Raven had scrapped, and Hurley felt at home the second she slid under the door. The bike-wagon she’d been using the day before was propped up against one wall and a partially completed full-sized wagon filled the center of the room. It was big enough for two people, maybe even three or four, even half-assembled. The Raven was on it in a heartbeat, pulling out tools and scrap pieces that seemed to match the composition of the wagon. Hurley wasn't sure what to do, so she found a stool nearby and watched as she got to work. For a few minutes, the Raven didn't remember that she was there, lost in a practiced routine.

She perked up as she realized Hurley wasn't at her side, turning to face her. "Oh, um, you've never worked on a wagon before, right?"

"I worked on the police wagons, but I sort of… assumed this was different."

The Raven stuck her lip out, looking over her wagon. "I doubt it's too different at this stage. I'm not to the racing components, yet. Just putting this ol’ thing back together."

Hurley hopped off her stool and pulled it over to the wagon, sitting on it again so she was level with the Raven. She opened her mouth to ask what she was doing, and instead a different phrase tumbled out. "I don't know your name."

"...shit. I. I forgot to introduce myself yesterday?"

"I don’t think we really got around to introductions."

The Raven covered her face, a faint blush forming under her skin. She seemed to be collecting herself after that blunder, finally mumbling, "Its Sloane. My name is Sloane."

Sloane. Hurley repeated it, rolling it off her tongue and feeling the rush that came with it. "Well then, Sloane, show me how this baby runs." Her grin was lopsided, and her phrasing earned a snort and a chuckle (success).

Sloane showed Hurley what she had already in the wagon and what she planned to strip from each of the surrounding wagons. Hurley found that she knew a lot more about wagons than she thought, though part of it might've been from Sloane's explanations and the fact that, really, what went where wasn't hard to figure out when everything was designed to fit together flawlessly. They started work on the wagon before the afternoon hit, and midway through Sloane looked up and over at Hurley, eyebrows wrinkled just slightly.

"...yeess?" Hurley asked, flushing faint pink.

"Sorry, I just… you'll need to hide your face, and I was. Trying to think of a good fit for you," Sloane explained.

She turned more fully toward Hurley, something other than curiosity in her eyes but only scrutinizing Hurley as she promised to. "That mask," she said, "do you still have it?"

“Back home.”

“The Ram…” Sloane repeated it a few times to herself. “The Raven and the Ram. Sound good to you?”

Hurley tried to imagine it, forming the battlewagon in her mind and placing them inside, tumbling down the track at top speed. Sloane in her raven mask and cloak, Hurley in a ram’s skull mask and… a cape of fleece? No, she wasn’t a cape person. Her gi, though... a new one formed in her head, patterned to look like wool she’d been wearing as she headbutted someone’s nose in. That she could rock.

“I like it,” Hurley said, grinning.

And that was what they became, among other things. The Raven and the Ram, fiercest duo on the tracks; Sloane and Hurley, fantasy Starbucks master and militia lieutenant; cat and mouse, Goldcliff’s second-favorite illegal pastime. Lovers playing under the waves together, content where they were in each other's arms instead of floating above in boats of shallow happiness and loose commitments. The wounds on Hurley’s bandaged heart stitched themselves closed and the bandages fell away. She held Sloane’s own healing heart in her hands and held it close. Maybe love was for her after all. She had her work and her garden and frolicked under the waves with her girlfriend (later fiancee) all at once. She dived deeper, deeper, learned new things about herself and the woman she loved as their chases became staged and their races became shows, as they danced and swam and grew a garden and helped the birds and children of Goldcliff get enough to eat.

Love didn’t feel like drowning, she thought. It felt a little more like breathing.

(Hiccups and all.)

[tsvitok]

2017-09-10.

Only one today, it’s a longer one. Took me all day, it’s up to you to decide if it was worth it.

A Queen receives a gift from an ambassador, better than she expected.

ko-fi. | patreon.

Alia had never once imagined as a child that she could become Queen. It was acid in her mouth, made all the worse by how she had gotten here. Sitting in the Great Hall, a hollow empty room of glass and stone, with the family’s livery draped from every opportunity and row upon row of expertly hewn stone table and finely made wooden chair, topped with silk and cushion. Food and drink flowed, all the colours of the rainbow and the setting suns. Enough to match the disparate skins of the people gathered at the table drinking and eating and discussing amongst themselves.

From her throne up high, Alia watched them. The ashen skinned women from the south to the south of the room, so used to the strong wines from their own lands they had consumed their weight in mead already. Across from them at the foot of her throne was her own men, women of the nobility, knights she had afforded some of her family’s land, loyal subjects of high repute.

At the western wall were the westerners, Ladies of different baronies that argued amongst themselves from across the tables despite all the best planning to keep them apart. By comparison the dark-skinned tribes of the east, sitting along the eastern wall, were demure and civil. Several of the chieftess’ were wearing the skins of animals Alia had only heard rumour existed.

Her Prime Minister looked to her, a young woman just like Alia, thrust into this position. At least however, she had been trained for this job.

“It is time your grace.”

Alia stood, “I suppose it is.”

She would rather die than be forced to talk to any of these preened, self-important cushion-pounders, but unfortunately death wasn’t an option. And it was more painful than she could have imagined. She met with the Drow first, a bitter woman called Natayna. Ambassador and eldest daughter of the Empress of Aszah.

There was an unnatural rainbow sheen to their lips and eyes, white body paint trailed down their nearly naked form like blood seeping from wounds hidden under their bra. An elegant skirt hid most of their legs and jewels of blood red and sky blue dangled from delicate gold chain. They however were obviously not much for diplomacy.

“Hello, Alia Vyrs, Queen of the Frozen North.”

Alia’s Diplomatic Minister seemed more taken aback then she was, “I rule much more than that now,” she reminded them, “My people send their regards on that matter.”

They laughed and stood, shoving one of their own out of the way to stand face to face with Alia. They were taller, but not by much.

“I am Natayna Chengeshev, share some wine with me.”

They offered Alia a glass, one of her servants brought her own from her people’s table. Natayna smirked, when Alia brushed them away and took the glass from the Drow.

“I know your people’s tricks,” she took wine from the Drow’s table, “they don’t worry me.”

She drank deep, the rainbow sheen on the Princess’ lips faded.

“Let me ask something of you, Queen of Ash, how do I scare you?”

Alia smiled warmly, “You don’t. I’ll let you enjoy the rest of your meal, then we should really talk about those lands you gave me.”

“Having trouble with them?”

“Less so the land, and more the people living there.”

Natayna bowed respectfully, and Alia left them to whatever it was that Drow did with food.

She went about, spoke to the other ambassadors and her own ministers. It had been they who suggested she do the very next thing. The night ended with everyone very drunk, except Alia. They all retired to the rooms afforded them by their gracious host, and in the dead of night, Alia paid a visit.

The Drow was first, it would be the hardest.

“Come in.”

The room was lovely, her people had done a good job of mimicking the Drow. Natayna sat in a chair, sipping wine, not at all drunk. The rainbow sheen in their eyes had died down in the dimmer light of the room. The silken sheets of the bed, and the way they draped over the room surrounding them like nets ready to be pulled down, it all made her head swim a little. Perhaps she had drunk too much. She had not intended to drink at all, but nerves had gotten the better of her.

All the better, the ashen skinned woman staring at her with mystic eyes was unnerving.

“I was wondering when I could expect a visit from you, Lady Alia.”

There was no point quibbling about titles, “I’ll have you know, you’re my first-”

Natayna grinned, “Don’t worry, it’s always scary losing your virginity.”

“What? No, the first I am seeing tonight.”

“Ah,” they bowed in their seat, “such an honour. Forgive me, I have no interest in any of this.”

“Then why did you come?”

“I assume for the same reason you agreed to perform this song and dance. Each and every time a new Queen is crowned, they are obligated to secure their titles with an heir. It has been happening so long, they’ve lost the original sight of this pathetic tradition.”

They gestured to join them for some wine, she gladly sat and drank some more.

“What am I supposed to do then? Everyone expects me to marry, to make alliances and end rivalries.”

They poured her a glass of wine, “Where is the valiant, dragon-slayer Princess that I heard so much about? My people have several songs about you, and only two are ribald. The rest about about how you end entire armies with a swing of your sword, cutting knights in half with a single blow, then take their wives and... well, that’s covered in those other two.”

“Your people are fond of exaggeration.”

They sighed, “Quite.”

“I am a knight, not a princess. I know how to fight and kill, not fuck and make people my wife.”

Natayna sipped her wine, “Oh, the first part isn’t so hard, I could teach you if you’d like.”

She blushed, and looked away. Drows were, a weakness.\

“Tell me something, why did you come? Why did your mother send you?”

“I suppose if I am here for my people, an alliance against someone strong enough to defeat us makes more sense than allying with someone you can beat. I am happy to cede some lands, if that means not losing more.”

“But you didn’t come for your people, did you?”

“No,” they placed down the glass, “I came to see this supposedly beautiful warrior queen. I didn’t believe you could be as beautiful as the songs.”

“And?”

“They do you no justice. Now it is the other parts of the songs I am interesting in investigating.”

“Oh?”

Natayna shifted her attention instead to a small box on the table, “My mother asked to give you these.”

The rose-wood box, as big as a book, it had soft satin lining inside and four, uh... ahem.

“Toys?”

“Not quite,” Natayna stood, slipping away towards the bed, “A long time ago, the Drow women had men, just as you do. It was a great pleasure to our people, there was love, happiness and equality throughout our tribes. So happy were we that upon seeing us the other people grew jealous and stole our men from us.”

“I know this story, how do these... relate.”

The smooth shafts glistened, the polished woods were finely shaped, perfect for their obvious intended purposes and inscribed with runes made of metal.

“They were cruel, and our men died long before we could save them. Without them, we were to die out. Then the Goddesses gave us this gift. With these totems, any woman can use them to pleasure themselves, but a Drow knows how to use them to bear children with another woman.”

“These are how your people do it?”

“Yes. And that is just one thing I can offer you, Lady of Ashes.”

“I have no real interest in bearing children.”

Natayna smiled warmly, “I figured as much, but I’m not talking about you. Ally with my people and I’ll teach you how we do it, then you can attend to your other visitors.”

They unfastened their bra, and sat down on the bed.

“Come, bring the box over, I’ll tell you what they do.”

That was temptation enough to bite. Natayna slipped off their skirt, the soft white fabric matched their bikini, it all crumbled to the floor. Their heeled sandals stayed on, their bikini-bottoms clinging to their fat lips. They had such soft, ashen skin, nearly black and nearly grey, it looked like it would taste of smoke or fire. And their breasts, large, beautiful heaving breasts, rising and falling, jiggling.

She picked up the box and brought it over. She sat down beside them and they opened up the box. They were all the same size, but vastly different shapes and colours. Pale rose coloured wood, made up of bulbs that pulsated with a silver pattern of spirals and rings; white wood with gold nodules in straight lines along the length of the shaft; black wood with thick gold rings and a thick bulb near to the base; a strange bluish wood with a silver pattern of waves and bubbles that followed the circular grain of the wood. Each was finely polished and the base of them was flat and then connected to a hook veined and then capped with the metal - the part that let her wear it.

“I am sure you know how to use one of these,” Natayna urged her closer, “And I know you will know the basics of alchemy.”

She had learned as a child, “All things are made of energy; of four different elements, fire, earth, air and water.”

“Yes,” Natayna gestured to the totems, “and they are fire, air, earth and water.”

They picked up the black totem - earth - “to make someone with child, you will need to sacrifice an offering to the love goddesses, and they will take a piece of me and a piece of you, and combine the energy of that offering with us to impregnate me.”

“Okay,” that was simple enough.

“But, it also matters the element of the totem, which must match the one to be with child. If my aura is of fire, then earth will be for nothing more than fun.”

“Wait,” she examined it again, really not sure why she was getting a lesson while her entire body ached, “how do I know?”

“The energies that make something give it its character, its personality. Before tonight, I’d have said, you are fire. But now, perhaps you are not. Or, you can make it much more fun and just use all four.”

They offered her the earth totem, “Enough talk.”

She examined it while Natayna fell back against the bedsheets, they spread their legs, Alia realised she was still in her ridiculous dress from the dinner. It took no time at all to nearly rip from her body. That sight made Natayna sit up, take notice.

“Oh, my.”

Alia blushed, she wasn’t much to look at, though people said she was pretty. Long blonde hair, deep hazel eyes, broad shoulders and firm muscles. Her stomach was toned, her hips were far too narrow for a woman to be proud of and her ass was flat. Not at all like the curvy Drow sprawled out before her.

“I see what the appeal was.”

Natayna grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her down. Her body pressed against theirs, hard against soft. They were so soft and warm, their eyes glistened rainbow as she stared into it. Her breasts pressed against theirs, her hips spread her legs and her fingers eased the hook of the totem inside her. It was a strange, fairly wonderful feeling, it was unnaturally hard and seemed to stick into place so she didn’t even have to hold it. It just sprung up between her legs. Natayna untied their underwear and it pulled away, the dark pussy bloomed for her, offering no resistance to the totem as it slid inside them.

They stared intently at her as she thrust, their hands finding her tits the moment she rose away to gain her footing. She hooked their legs with her arms, forcing them up, pressing her entire weight into her thrusts. Natayna purred, and wrapped their arms around her back, pulling their bodies closer together.

She could feel them through the totem, as if it was becoming part of her, melding with her body. It rubbed inside her, rubbed against her clit, fucked her just as hard as she was pushing against the Drow. Their teeth sank into her neck, just enough to hurt as their fangs bristled her skin, but the rest was just their lips and tongue teasing her.

“Ahh, you’re a natural!”

Natural? Were they making fun of her. Her body was flush, the desires inside her swell in her chest until it was hard to breath. And she came, but not as she usually did, it gushed from her, filled Natayna. The strange sensation left her breathless, it shivered through her body and left a dryness to her mouth.

“Perfect, Lady of Ashes.”

She sat back and the totem loosened, Natayna’s pussy gaped, trickled her juices that now drooled down the thick shaft of the totem.

“Next time, try to get all the way inside.”

She puffed, “Next time?”

“Why not? But maybe not tonight, you’ve got other maidens to see, remember?”

“Of-,” she panted, “of course.”

“Wine?”

She raised her hand to decline, then slid the totem from inside her. Her body ached to feel it again, but her mind was clear. “Sorry, I normally last longer.”

“It’s alright, we all get better with time and practice. If we were allies, it would not be strange if I stayed in your capital to help you practice.”

That was an enticing thought, and the gift was, incredible.

“Allies. Yes, that sounds appropriate.”

Natayna grinned and sipped wine, “And, dear ally, Queen of the Fysan, I have the perfect plan on how to deal with our potential enemies.”

[truthfulstars]

Mylvera Roslyn Thennis

[Image Description: a half-elf woman with short, curly red hair, freckles, and green eyes. She is smirking slightly at the viewer, with some curls in her face]

Age: 25

Race: half-high elf

Height: 5’7

Occupation: alchemist and adventurer

Source

About

Mylvera ‘Vera’ Roslyn Thennis (pronounced Then-nish with emphasis on the Th) was born to a human ranger/farmer— Rowan Thennis— and an elven Ex-Paladin of Corellon— Aurae Dienna. After serving The Protector for over 200 years, she fell in love with Rowan when she helped him fight off an attack by the Drow, the two writing to each other for over a year before she prayed to Corellon to ask if she could leave his order until her husband had died. Granted this wish, she lived with him on his farm, eventually having their first— and only child— three years after their marriage. Mylvera was raised on stories of both the human and elven pantheons, her nursery and childhood bedroom painted with pastoral scenes of both versions of paradise. From the time she could speak and walk, Vera retold these stories and acted them out with her toy bow and wooden sword, defeating Lolth and Mask for the glory of Lathander and Corellon.

When she was ten years old, Vera’s world was turned upside down when the Drow attacked Rothé Valley in earnest, slaughtering everyone who tried to resist them as they enslaved the farming village. Although Aurae and Rowan tried to protect their daughter, the family was taken away. As a high elven woman who still wore the holy symbol of Corellon, Aurae was sacrificed to Lolth, her husband easily cut down in front of their daughter as he tried to protect his wife, and the child was dragged away into the Underdark.

Sold to House Mizzrym— 6th House of Menzoberranzan— she bonded with a 15 year old human from Cormyr, by the name of Cassius. Separated from his sister and mother, he took the frightened Vera under his wing, helping her keep her spirits up and teaching her about the Purple Dragons of his land. A faithful follower of Lathander, he promised her that they would see the sun again, no matter what the Drow did. However, he never got to see that day, as he was killed when Vera was 12 years old.

By the time she turned 15, Vera became a personal handmaiden to Matron Mother Mizzrym. She was the youngest woman ever given the honor, along with a powerful Arcane Mark of their house crest on the back of each hand, that would not fade until her death. Vera immersed herself in learning how to dress and prepare the Matron Mother for the day, every aspect of her life scheduled away. As the personal handmaiden to the Matron Mother, she quickly grew the ire of her son— Valok Mizzrym, whose ability as a wizard was outshone by his frustration and Napoleon complex. He made it his goal to ruin her, no matter what it took.

At twenty years old, ten years after the death of her family, Valok Mizzrym was sent to the surface to prove his worth by doing some reconnaissance in order to help find slaves that could be sold in Menzoberranzan. As a lure and also someone the Matron Mother trusted, Mylvera was sent with him, just days before the backup would arrive. However, her fear of the house’s wrath was overshadowed when she was told to lure away a young girl from her home as a test. When Vera refused to bring a child into the life she was forced into, Valok moved to strike her down, but she was faster— using the dagger coated with paralytic toxins she was supposed to use on his victims, she slit Valok’s throat. Arm shattered by his shortsword and covered in his blood, she cut his silk shirt off and fashioned it into a sling, running away with what money he had on him and the clothes on her back.

She made her way to Neverwinter, where she hid among the beggars and refugees while terrified and wondering where to go. As she sat in a tavern, back against the wall and facing the door, the elven bard began to play a familiar song— an old folk song her uncle had sung years before. Reminded of the family she had left in Waterdeep, she traveled south until she found the Apothecary her uncle Leon Thennis owned with his wife, collapsing into his arms after years of struggling to survive.

Because of the arcane mark on her hands, Mylvera does not stay in the attic-turned-apartment above her family’s shop and flat for more than a month at a time. She knows that she is one scrying spell away from being found, and constantly keeps running— doing odd jobs all over Faerûn to keep from staying in one place for too long. She always returns home with money and some stories, but creating roots or starting a family is out of the question.

Facts

Vera is a Druid-Rogue multiclass. At the moment, there are plans to add a couple levels of cleric (Corellon) in the future, but I want those sweet sweet circle of land [Underdark] spells.

Vera feels very nervous around Drow. It’s a combination of the fact that House Mizzrym could find her at any time to drag her back to Menzoberranzan and the things she saw as a slave— although her mother tried to teach her it is the actions that make a person evil, not their race, her own experiences have overshadowed the childhood lessons.

Because of the trauma she faced in the Underdark, Vera has Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID) and has four alters— Naneth, who acts as a mother figure and protects her; Cormyr, who is a fugue state like personality that blocks out pain; Avuna, who is less withdrawn and stands up for herself; and Hinya, who is the part of her who acts as a ‘good slave’ should. Mylvera is unaware of the personalities except for Naneth, who she has auditory hallucinations of at some points. She believes that she is the spirit of her mother guiding her, and does not realize she is actually a part of herself.

Vera is missing the ring finger on both hands at the first knuckle. On her left, the cut is clean but the veins have turned black and hardened from what appears to be a poison. On the right, it is a jagged cut that seems half-assed, and there is no other damage. Because of this and the Arcane Mark, is glowing slightly red when scried on, she wears leather fingerless gloves at all times.

Vera speaks Elvish, Undercommon, Common, and Dwarvish. After fighting a lot of Yuan-ti, she’s also beginning to think about learning Draconic or Abyssal because fuck you sneople (snake people).

Vera is vaguely Aromantic and/or Asexual. This is partly from a lack of want to be married or settle down— as she doesn’t want to create a family she can’t protect— but even before that she never had dreams of marrying anyone or having kids of her own.

Even though she does not want kids of her own, Mylvera is very protective of children in general. Her own childhood was taken from her in such a violent way that she can’t stand to see children put in any type of danger. To her, even though she will probably never get over what happened to her or her parents, she can at least make sure no one else has to be hurt the same way.

Stats

Strength: 11— +0 modifier and saves

Dexterity: 19— +4 modifier and saves

Constitution: 13— +1 modifier and saves

Intelligence: 16—+3 to modifier and +7 to saves

Wisdom: 18— +4 modifier and +8 saves

Charisma: 15—+2 modifier and saves

[anthonyreadsthecards]

So I got my last commision from @silentcartoon a few days ago (doesn’t he look cool?) and I wanted to gush about him like I did my other two.

So this is Safayr El-Hashem my bisexual Rogue in our current Pathfinder game. 

So like with Soren gotta give y’all a bit of backstory about the world. Safayr’s dad, Asad, is from the country south of Olfinn, Ethad, which is lots of sand and desert. Asad was working as a carpenter’s apprentice, was betrothed to a woman who was a friend of his family, and he really didn’t have much want or need to leave his home until he met Alma. Alma was a Katta Bard (Katta people are descended from Drow Elves. They are humanoid but all of them dark skin and red eyes. They don’t get a lot of good press and a lot of people hate them and blame them everything). Alma wandered into town one day and Asad heard her sing, dance, and tell stories about all the places she had seen and he feel head over heels in love. His family wasn’t too happy about this since he broke of a previously planned engagement, he was marrying a strange foreigner that he barely knew, and he wanted to leave and travel to Olfinn.   Several years later they would reconcile but Asad’s leaving wasn’t pretty.

He and Alma moved to Morgantown, a port city, and he opened up his own shop as a carpenter and she continued to sing and tell stories at a few inns and taverns. A lot of people were apprehensive of the couple but Asad and Alma made quick friends of the city and it became their home. When Alma was pregnant with Safayr, her first child, Nyssa, was already four, something strange and wonderful happened. Asad had taken Nyssa to the market and Alma went for a walk, as she often did, in the forest to get some fresh air. While on her walk she went into labor and cried out for help. But help arrived in the form of a tiny yellow bird. It chirped soothingly and when Alma prayed out loud for her husband to find her the bird took off. Several minutes later Asad came into view with the yellow bird guiding him to his wife and he was able to carry to healer’s hut so her baby could be delivered. Safayr’s name is derived from the word “tiny yellow bird” in Ethadian. Alma would have another daughter named Tala three years after Safayr. 

Safayr and his mother got along famously. She would tell him stories of childhood in Kattamor and her travels as a Bard. Originally this is what Safayr wanted to be do with his life. He practiced singing and dancing and things were great. However, shortly after he had turned ten years old, Alma disappeared. The three children woke up to a rainy morning to find their father sitting at the table, a drink in hand, and the front door wide open. No matter how much they pleaded and begged him, Asad wouldn’t say what had happened. All that he ever mentioned was that she had left them and nothing more. Safayr and his father began to fight more and more after this. He became a bit of a wild child after his mother’s disappearance and would get into all sorts of trouble. Until one day when he was about nineteen he decided to join the city guard. Asad had forbidden Safayr from becoming a Bard so Safayr decided to that if he couldn’t see the world he should probably help make it a safer place. The city guard had a corrupt captain who would extort the citizens of Morgantown and this led to Safayr leaving the guard. Now, depending on who’s telling the story, one of two things happened. Safayr got into a heated argument with the captain and punched him right in the face before walking out of the barracks, like a badass. Or Safayr tried to punch the captain and instead got beat up and thrown from the barracks, falling face first in the mud. No one knows which story is true (not even me). 

So Safayr decided he’d help in another way by becoming a vigilante. He would patrol the city and try to help those in need…problem was he wasn’t very good. Most times he would get his ass kicked but over the course of two and half years he became a pretty capable fighter. One night Safayr tried to save a young man from being mugged but the stranger quickly dealt with them before Safayr knocked out one guy. His name was Drake and Safayr would run into him a few more times before the two would start their whirlwind romance. Safayr would later find out Drake was an assassin from the legendary league, The Silver Scorpion and that Drake had come to set up a branch of the league in Morgantown. Safayr felt conflicted to say the least and things only got more complicated when Drake’s father, the head of the Silver Scorpion, tried to recruit Safayr into the league. Wern, Drake’s father, told Safayr how the league would only kill people who abused their power and took advantage of innocent people and that their main mission was to create a world where everyone was equal. Drake was against Safayr joining but he did anyway. To join the league you have to kill someone from their list and on the list was the corrupt captain of the city guard. Safayr had no qualms in ending this man’s life but what he didn’t know was that the captain was guarding an important noble who was trying to establish a new trade route through Morgantown. The noble was murdered the next morning by another assassin and a new representative took their place. Safayr confronted Wern about the senseless murder of nobleman to which Wern replied it was just business. Someone had wanted the noble dead because the new trade route would have wasted his family’s fortune so the league was contracted to take him out. Safayr realized that the league wasn’t all that they said they were (no, duh, right?) and wanted out. However the only ways out are being pardoned by the guildmaster or death and Wern wasn’t about to pardon anyone with Safayr’s potential. 

This led our hero to book it out of town and join a school for adventurers. He hoped to learn some better ways at fighting, evading, and detecting danger but also hoped that the school would help him find distance far away from the league. 

Some cool stuff about Safayr is that he has a pretty cool mace called Bloodthief which has the ability to siphon life energy from every creature he kills with it and store that energy up. If Safayr’s HP ever hits zero Bloodthief will give him that energy back and restore some of his health. He recently found out the mace belonged to Drow royalty and not everyone is able to wield the mace but for some reason he can. In an upcoming adventure we might find out why. He is partnered with Anya who is a forest/mountain Ranger. The two get along…mostly but they’re becoming better friends. He also has a tattoo on his left shoulder of The Wiggler (it’s a nearly uncatchable fish that he was able to grab during a fishing contest) that is partially enchanted. It gives a bit of Animal Handling. This is because Anya didn’t use her Wild Empathy to calm down a wolf and it proceeded to bite Safayr on the butt and the wound got infected. Thankfully they were able to find a healer to help out but now he doesn’t trust her when it comes to animals. He does however love her adopted dog, Bjarf, (named after a bandit they killed. Anya said the name was better suited for a dog). 

And that’s all I can think off at the moment for Safayr. If you ever get curious and want to know more about him, my other characters, or the game just send an ask my way. I love talking about this kind of stuff so please give me an excuse!

[aoriethetheif-blog]

3

"The temple is under attack by a red dracolich in the shadow realm. This dracolich is why the temple has never been returned to our realm. There is a High Priest that keeps the dragon away from the temple but as long as it threatens he cannot return the temple. So, I study dragon lore and search for spells that will help me get to the temple and destroy the dracolich." They discussed other things while they finished eating. Aorie was just passing the last bit of hers to Shima, when the door of the taproom was kicked violently open. In the door stood a bald dwarf with half his face and head covered in old burn scars. His bright blue goatee reached past his belt, and he glared at Aorie and Shima with fire in his green eye, the other had a milky film and was partially buried in the scar tissue. Draga followed the dwarfs glare to find the drow wearing a merry grin and the dwarf trying to smother a laugh. "Commander," Aorie called. "You are looking well this morning. Did you change your beard? I like it!" Shima almost repressed a snort. The Commander started towards them roaring, "Ye did this," he lifted his beard, "Ye damned troublesome half-drow. Ye've been a pain in me backside all yer damned life. Tell me one good reason I shouldn't just put an end yer endless pranks and run ye outa me city!" Shima had slid under the table; it heaved with her suppressed mirth. Draga and River tried to clear the table before something fell off and broke. Aorie stood and fearlessly met the enraged dwarf commander in the middle of the room. She picked up the end of his beard, rubbed it between her fingers and showed the blue tips of her dark fingers to the dwarf. "This is a comb in color. When have I ever combed your beard?" She asked with infuriating calm. "What's that got to do with it? Ye're a sneaky one," the captain roared. "Which is why you pay me enormous piles of gold to catch thieves for you," she replied dryly. "But does not explain how I dyed your beard. So, why do you think I had anything to do with this." "Where were ye last night? Did ye go to Dwarftown? And just how do ye know this is a comb in job done on me beard?" "Look around," Aorie said, rolling her eyes. "I live in a brothel. I do the hair of many of the...employees on my off days. Of course I know about hair stuff. That stuff in you're beard will wash out next time you take a bath. And I was on the wall last night, per your orders." She slipped into a good impersonation of the commander's brogue, "Humans ain't no good on the durned wall on moonless nights. Ye round up them as can see for the new moon. And be there yerself." "BATH! I have to take a BATH to fix this," he bellowed. "Baths make ye sick. And me armor will rust!" Shima's laughter filled the room. Draga and some of the other patrons joined her. And the commander's anger was redirected. He stomped over to the table and drug Shima out from under it. "What're ye laughing at ye damned unnatural dwarf?" River had taken refuge in the rafters, as Draga returned the rescued crockery to the twins, who stood behind the bar, enjoying the show. "Aren't you guys going to break this up?" Bardo smiled at him, "Our guard Commander is only happy when he is yelling. Those two are his favorite targets, and they seem to enjoy upsetting him. He's not going to do anything but yell. And our gossip mongers," he pointed with his chin at a table full of well dressed patrons, "will talk about this for weeks. He usually keeps his fits in Dwarftown or the barracks." "Dwarftown?" Draga asked. "There are a couple hundred dwarves in the Citadel. They have their own district in the city's warren of tunnels," Zaria answered. Shima was sputtering, "Captain Bluebeard, you seem to have lost your eyepatch. Would you like me to go find you a new one?" It was only then that Draga noticed Shima did not carry the typical dwarvish accent. "See," Bardo said to Draga, "They can't help but wind him up. They say he takes himself too seriously. He'll be renamed throughout the city by the end of the day. The rest of the guard will take up the joke and present him with soap and eyepatches for a month or more." "Then, he'll most likely keep the color." Zaria told him, "The Guarda need the laughter, and he knows it. They are the ones charged with keeping peace in the city. They have to deal with all the horrors some people do to others and not become horrors themselves. Its hard on them." "Ye're both fired!" The commander declared. And with that, he left, slamming the door. Bardo said, "Now those two will spend the next month or two gambling, and starting bar fights. And there will eventually be some huge robbery, or murder that the rest of the Garda can't figure out. And he'll come stomping in here to get them back on the job, because they really are some of his elite." He grinned. And called out, "I think he means it this time, Aorie." "He means it every time," Shima answered for her friend, still laughing. "You want me bouncing the rabble out tonight?" "How many times has he fired you," River asked. "This makes five," Aorie said still wearing that tiny half smile the seemed to be a permanent fixture on her face. She yawned. "I'm tired. You guys still want an escort up to the monastery?" She looked at Draga. "Elite?" He looked at Bardo. "What kind of elite soldier lives in a brothel and plays childish pranks on superior officers?" "We've lived in many places," Zaria told him. "So, I would say, with some certainty, all of them. Soldiers, garda, watch, or whatever the local name for them, usually spend most of their off duty time in brothels much less genteel than this one. And they all play pranks on each other. People who depend on each other in the way the Garda do become family, but since they would feel awkward with traditional familial shows of affection, they play pranks." "Ok," Draga said slowly. He looked to Aorie, "When do we go see Grand Master Castellen?" "Give us four hours," she told him. "Explore the city, and meet us here. I'll send word up to Grand Master Castellen so he'll be expecting us this afternoon." Chapter 2

Aorie was dressed in tan breeches and a bright yellow blouse that made her eyes seem gold. Shima had thrown a green tabard over her armor that made her eyes look like sea foam. She carried a large covered basket that Draga assumed held the strawberries that the twins had asked them to carry up to the monastery. "Grand Master Castellen is expecting us for the midday meal. Shall we?" Aorie said, gesturing with a sun hat that matched her blouse towards the door. They walked up a slight rise though blueberry fields that were just waking from their winter slumber to the monastery. River danced and played in the fields as if glad to be free of the city. "What is she doing?" Aorie asked. Draga smiled gently, watching his fey companion. "She is fey. Her life is closely tied to nature, specifically to rivers, but all things in nature call to her. She is putting her blessing on the fields and most likely playing with other fey that live here," Draga replied. And at Aorie's raised eyebrow continued. "Most fey use their glamour to remain unseen by 'the big folk' as they call us. But, they can see each other. River decided to travel with me for reasons she has never explained. She knows I won't let any of the other big folk bother her so feels safe using the glamour to make herself look like a halfling or gnome." The gates of the monastery were open. He could see that when they were closed they would show the symbol of Ilmater, pale hands bound with a red cord. Just inside the gate, they were greeted by a young accolite, "Miss Aorie, Miss Shima, who have you brought to us today?" "A priest of Denier, interested in the library," Shima answered. "Brought some strawberries from the Widow in thanks for helping out our girls this morning, too." The lad grinned, "I'll make sure most of them get to the temple." "Where is Brother Abbott?" Aorie asked. "He took over the Grand Master's dining room this morning. I don't know what he is preparing but it smells wonderful. May I join you?" he answered. "Not today, Brother Joist. Maybe next time," Aorie sounded strange. There was a slight nervousness to her voice. When the boy had gone, Draga asked, "Joist is some carpentry thing, isn't it?" That got a laugh from Aorie, who had not said much since leaving the inn. He did not know her well, but she liked to talk, he knew. Her silence worried him. "His brother's names are Dowel and Mantel. Their father was a carpenter," her tone was the same dry amused one she had used when talking of her salary, "and wanted his boys to take up the trade. I think the oldest, Dowel, will. The boys came here when a fever took their parents," her tone was now matter of fact, as if this was were all the orphans came. And when he thought about it, he'd seen very few beggar children when he and River had explored part of the city. "Are there many orphans here?" Draga asked. "Ilmater loves children," Shima answered. "So, the Garda brings the kids that have nowhere else to go here. At least half the people in the Citadel have lived here or have friends who have." They continued across the courtyard to what looked to be an oversized barracks building. Shima pointing out different buildings and their purpose and greeting friends as they went. Aorie had gone silent again. Inside the barracks, they went up a stair on the right, and down a hall when they heard a weird noise, sluup-pop, sluup-pop. Aorie signaled to Draga to stay put, she had a dagger in her hand. Draga never saw where she had been keeping it. She moved around a bend in the wide hallway, Shima next to her with what looked like a cut down halbard, axe on one side balanced by a hammer head on the other. They looked up. Aorie relaxed, the dagger vanished and she sounded disgusted when she said, "What in nine hells are you doing here, gnome?" She held up a hand. "No, I really don't want to know. Do the Brothers know you are in the Monastery?"