#silver plays dnd

[pyroexcape]

primary friction

[jegulussyy]

thinking about a tav with a guild artisan background making a mirror without silver in it and giving it to astarion so that he can see his reflection again after 200 years…

[stim-odds]

c!Quackity stimboard with dice and cards? /nfaa

[ 🎲 ;; cards ; [ C QUACKITY ] ; dice ]

[ 🎰 ;; request made by ; anonymous ; ]

[ 🃏 ;; requests ; OPEN & AVAILABLE,!! ; ]

[ ♦️ ;; dnd dice <3, enjoy anon!! ]

[mars-ipan]

booting up splatoon and seeing the count has passed 700mil or whatever the quota was and is now at 800mil and steadily climbing. going “wow okay splatoon fans are kind of insane about this one”. going into one (1) round and getting wiped on wave 3 but it’s fine i guess. go back into the lobby and see the count is now at nINE HUNDRED MILLION ⁉️⁉️

IT HAS??? <- hasn’t been able to play all day

[vivianquill]

there's another ranchers/zits/giggs au story concept in my head i've been playing with, so let's-- just call this a demo.

Feel free to send asks or just give general feedback, not only will it help me to flesh out the au more, it'll also give me more ideas on where to go. I've seen similar aus out there, but nothing quite like this one-- or having all the same concepts as this one. If people like it, I might turn it into an actual longfic. but i tend to run out of steam on my longfics (mostly due to a lack of interaction tbh. if no one else is excited about my au, then it's not worth pursuing, right? but that's my problem and something I have to work through myself, not something for anyone else to fix)

Anyway.

This is a thing.

The moment Jimmy laid eyes on Tango, he knew something was-- off-- about him.

They'd met him in a tavern, in the small town that lay below the abandoned Deepfrost Citadel. Jimmy's adventuring troupe had been commissioned with finding an artifact in the Citadel, and bringing it back to its rightful owner. The bounty offered would be enough to pay off the troupe's debts and much much more. When they'd asked around for any sort of maps, or a guide, the tavern keeper had pointed them over to Tango.

"He's the only one to have ever made it out of that cursed place alive." The dwarf had told them, pointing to where their future guide was sitting in the corner, "If you want a guide, he's the only one who can."

Jimmy's sense for danger had shivered up his spine and stolen his breath the moment he looked over. But-- no one in his troupe paid any attention to him anyway.

Besides, the negotiations had gone well, Tango seemed amical enough, and no one else seemed to have a problem with him. It was only Jimmy, and his overzealous avian anxiety. They would pay Tango half his fee up front, and half when they got back to the village safely.

It took them half a week to get up to the Citadel, and that was with the help and knowledge of Tango as their guide. Jimmy kept him at arms' length, not quite knowing why but deciding to trust his gut on this one. Tango was dangerous, in a way that he couldn't figure out. He'd brought it up to the others in his troupe, but none of them believed him. They all loved Tango. He was clever, quick to laugh and even quicker to crack a joke, and ever so useful.

By the time they made it to the door of the Citadel, Tango had become an invaluable member of the troupe.

Tango disappeared that first night, spent barricaded in an outlying tower and hoping not to freeze to death. Jimmy had been on watch, and between one glance and the next, Tango hadn't been in his bedroll anymore.

But-- he'd been right back in the morning, acting like Jimmy didn't know what he was talking about.

It was the little things that kept setting Jimmy on edge. Tango knew a little too much about the Citadel, he'd found the 'hidden' door to the crypts too easily, had pushed the troupe to descend into the depths faster than was safe, not letting them scout it with a familiar like they normally would. He could pick the locks almost like he had a silent knock spell in his fingers, and somehow knew his way through the maze of icy caverns like the back of his hand.

And every night, after everyone was asleep, he disappeared. Jimmy was the only one who noticed. No one else believed him either, did they just-- not notice the empty bedroll when they were on watch?

When they finally believed him, it wasn't until Tango disappeared for good. One morning, he just-- didn't come back.

Then the monsters started appearing.

One thing lead to another as they pressed deeper and deeper into the dungeon under the Citadel, icy crypts full of wraiths and furry beasts morphing into wet caverns covered in mushrooms and a pirate ship complete with it's undead crew; leading down into black mines that had supposedly been blocked off by cave ins over a hundred years ago-- and before they knew it they'd lost a member of the troupe-- their healer-- and then they were tripping tail over teakettle into a maze so dark and cold that even those in the troupe with darkvision couldn't see.

It spat them out into a chamber not unlike the throne room found mirrored high above in the Deepfrost Citadel. It was full of gold and magic and things that would make any adventurer drool at the prospect of having them to keep.

Jimmy hadn't felt 'safe'-- not since he'd first met Tango in that tavern all those weeks ago-- but the sense of someone watching them stayed his hand.

The rest of the troupe had gotten busy, plundering everything in reach and searching for the artifact they'd been sent to collect.

But not Jimmy.

When asked why he wasn't stuffing his pockets with gold, he waved off the troupe with the excuse of keeping watch. After all, there were the monsters to contend with still--

Tango's giggle seemed to come from everywhere at once.

"Oh, you really should have listened to poor, sweet Jimmy when you had the chance~"

And suddenly Tango was there, on the throne in the center of the room, but instead of the blond, brown-eyed and rough-hewn guide they'd come to know and trust, it was a creature made of frost and shadows.

Jimmy's heart dropped out his stomach.

"Dragon--!"

Oh, they were dead.

Scratch that. Apparently everyone but Jimmy was dead.

Not like that was much better.

[vizziefizzie]

I had an AU brewing in my head

[ninjafrogofhnm]

That Grief Which Preys Upon Thy Heart

Iron coating his tongue was the first thing he noticed as he awoke. Slow, disjointed blinks had the darkness above resolving into a high stone ceiling of little note as his consciousness returned.

It was all that returned.

His name, his past, his self were all fragmented. Carried away on the wind like the ashes of the corpse pinning his legs.

Its’ identity was as much a mystery as his own but as he looked down at it pain blazed up his arm. A twisting burn wound up his forearm from a twining pair of circles burnt into his palm as if he’d been branded. The scorched flesh stood out in stark contrast to the deathly gray pallor of his skin, trickles of dead black blood seeped from the wound far too slowly without a heartbeat to pump it.

For a second he expected to see threads of blue light stitching the wound closed but it remained, ragged and raw.

He flexed his injured hand and both the pain and familiarity faded.

Kicking aside the disintegrating corpse he sat up, getting his first look around the crypt he found himself in. Bloodshot eyes dragged from corner to corner for any hint of himself to be found. Dust hung thick in the air around a single stone plinth where he lay covered in blood and ash. Alcoves dotted the walls all around bearing bodies draped in shrouds as frayed as his mind.

There was not a hint of life in that cold dead room – even as he rose to his feet in its midst.

“Where…?” His voice rasped in the stagnant air, thirst drying his throat. No memories rose to the fore to answer his question though something skirted around the edges of his thoughts. No more than a flash of vision or a snatch of sound. A curl of hair, a peal of laughter, a hint of color. It told him nothing – of himself or how he came to be here – nothing except that he was alone.

Nothing except that he wasn’t supposed to be.

That, at least, he could rectify. And perhaps in time the rest would follow.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

He found the first of them at a small homestead deep in the woods. Roughly patched timber walls stood strong amongst the tall pines, echoing the stance of the woman in front of it brandishing a rake at him. Protective rage rolled off her in waves, nothing but challenge in those glaring eyes.

A fighter even in cheap homespun with naught but farm tools as a weapon.

There was no memory of this woman in his mind, her face as new to him as any other, but something in the determined set of her jaw and the fierce brown of her eyes clicked in place. A familiarity that drew him up short.

As her knees buckled, sending her to the ground, he tipped her chin up towards him with a foreign sense of curiosity. Pale from blood loss beneath her freckled tan she still sneered up at him in defiance. He made a split second decision. With her blood on his tongue and his magic slithering through her mind he bound her to his will with a decisive snap. Her shoulders slumped obediently under the weight of the binding though the angry frown still creased her face.

“...Mira,” he posited, testing out the name with a tilt of his head. It came to him with delightful ease. A bloody smile drew back his lips as he pulled the wavering woman to her feet. “Let’s go home.”

Disappointing though it was, no further memories came to him as he led Mira into the darkness of the woods but he was not discouraged. He now knew what it was that he was missing and soon the rest of his family would return to his side.

Soon, soon they would be complete once more.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

Mira was the one to point out the encampment just beyond the edge of his slowly growing territory. He drew the shadows of the trees around his shoulders like a cloak and observed the skittering group with sharp eyes.

A small group, only two tents pitched amongst the trees. No fire as if they didn’t want to be spotted. At least two of the humans roaming along the edges of the clearing while the others slept. A scouting party.

The steely-eyed looks being cast in the direction of his territory made what they were scouting painfully easy to discern.

‘How amusing,’ he thought, unconcerned. It wasn’t often that the prey came to him rather than the other way around. On silent feet he stalked ever closer to the cold camp, bypassing the patrolling guards with ease. He would start from the center and see how long it took the humans to cotton to the invasion.

Blood soaked mud slowed his steps as he rounded the still-standing tent, stepping absently over a discarded body towards the last racing heartbeat in earshot. It galloped in fear, a siren song leading him forward through the carnage he’d wrought. It was loud in the now-silent night and he only had to hear the faint stutter in the rhythm to slap away the desperate stab of a knife from the shadows.

Disarmed, the man scrambled backwards through the muck trying to get away. He fell onto his back and stared up at the specter of death towering over him. Fear and resignation fed off each other until he snarled up at Death, nearly feral.

The shadowy figure tsked down at the rangy human, that naked expectation of dying striking a distant memory. Blinded eyes spitting venom to hide the hopeless resignation building within; breathing life back into those eyes.

“Enough Lei,” he snapped, the first words he’d spoken that night. The human flinched in surprise and tried to reach for his lost dagger, his wrist caught in a steely grip before he could even graze it. The wrist was drawn inexorably up to his mouth, fangs glittering in the moonlight. “You’ve lost a lot of blood. It’s time to rest.”

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

Fires were blazing throughout the village, turning the night bright with the houses and sheds acting as makeshift torches. The light crept beyond the boundaries of the village itself to illuminate a figure crouching just outside a large outcropping of rocks, peering at a deep crevice in the stone.

“You need to come out,” the figure murmured, normally cold voice warming to a degree as he peered into the deep shadows of the crevice. Inside a young girl was curled up in a tight ball just out of his reach, her face pressed tight against her knees, short curls just visible over the top. “It’s not safe for you to stay here.”

Wide dark eyes slowly lifted up to peek at him, set deep in a young face. Frightened and tear-stained.

He had no practice in being inviting but kept his face calm and voice quiet, hand extended to the child as a faint echo of a trembling figure in a stone tunnel whispered through his mind.

“I-I’m not supposed to go with strangers,” she answered back, voice a tremulous whisper in the night. Nearly drowned out by the crackle of flames.

“I’m not a stranger.” He beckoned again, watching her consider his hand – consider him – before inching slowly closer. Cautious still but allowing herself to be coaxed. “It’s time to go Ellia; the others are waiting.” A small hand was placed into his own and he pulled her free with a swift tug, holding fast before she could try and run.

Back under the concealing darkness of the forest, far from the harsh firelight, he patted the top of the girl’s head. Brushing blood and stone dust from the curls as she followed close at his side, eyes vacant with the binding.

He held her hand all the way back home, keeping her safe from all the lurking dangers in the perpetual gloom of the woods. After all what here could be more dangerous than him?

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

Within these vast woods those that studied magic were in high demand. In the ever-present darkness those that could conjure up light to ward against the many dangers that lurked within were held in high esteem and were protected accordingly. Cloistered away to learn, to practice. Only ever traveling in guarded groups.

Normally he would not have gone out of his way to cross the cloister’s path. Too much danger for far too little reward. Something about this group, however, caught his attention.

More specifically someone in the group.

She was taller than he’d expected – remembered, in some hazy corner of his mind – but as he stepped out from the trees into their path she snapped her hand forward, summoning fire to her fingers like a well-heeled hound. The other scholars cowered away and even the guards fumbled with their swords but she was ready. Fearless and bright.

“Ah, Milou, there you are.”

She did not come easily. Too many others at her back, too much magic in her veins.

They lit up the night as if it were daytime, sparks igniting the dry glass into blossoming embers that erupted into a field of flames. The cloister fell or fled, chased away by the spreading fire, leaving only two figures standing amid the blaze and bodies. The scholar wielded her magic with a deftness born of desperation but the fire dripped harmlessly from his shoulders as he finally reached her. She was panting, singed and exhausted, when his magic caught her in turn.

White robes bled red and another piece of his family returned.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

To the north a small town flourished within the forest despite the heavy darkness that kept many such settlements nearby suppressed and isolated. Just behind the town a barren hill rose up above the treetops, breaking through the otherwise endless canopy. Atop the hill a whitewashed temple glowed in the moonlight, a diamond shining above the black velvet pine boughs, a beacon of safety for the villagers below.

A cloaked figure hunched forward against an icy breeze that it couldn’t feel as it skirted past the village towards the hill, pausing near the base where the trees began to thin out.

Shadowed eyes scanned the hillside for any movement but only wind rustled the frosty grass. Once the moon dipped beneath the treetops he crept up the side of the hill opposite the town under the deeper cover of night. He flinched as he drew near the temple, palm stinging in the faint presence of the divine. Holding the hand close to his side he slipped around the corner to the front of the temple on silent feet.

Standing at attention in front of the temple entrance was a guard-priest, hand resting on the hilt of a sheathed sword as they watched over the sleeping village below.

A pleased smile bared his fangs at the sight of the priest. It had taken the better part of a week skulking about to nail down the guard rotation but it had paid off. The faint glow of mage light from the priest’s torch glinted off dark hair pushed back off of a green scaled brow.

Finding Kuris had taken a while and getting them alone a while longer, but he had all the patience in the world if it brought this last person back to him. And now that they were there just a handful of feet away there was only one thing left to do.

Bring them home. And at last they would be complete.

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

The click of claws on stone echoed through the empty room with metronomic regularity, each tap tap tap marked another second melting away into dawn. Alone, he sprawled over the crude throne that dominated the otherwise featureless room, the high back hiding the entrance to the dark cellar where his coffin waited.

He would normally sleep away the daylight, leaving the others to protect the ground in his stead. But he was restless. A sense of wrongness pulled at his senses, kept him on alert, so it came as little surprise when his solitude was intruded upon. Three sets of footsteps approached from the corridor, the heavy wooden door creaking open allowing a beam of sunlight to streak across the floor towards him.

Yanking his foot back from the light he hissed, “What do you think-”

“Bash.”

The world tilted sideways – or maybe he did – as that single word hit him with the force of a lightning strike. The word, that name, that was him. His. A piece of himself he hadn’t even realized was lost until it returned.

It was as if he’d been living with his head held underwater all this time and suddenly he’d broken the surface and taken a breath. He could remember again. Hazy at times, but the memories were there when he reached for them. Pain throbbed at his temples from the onslaught but it did nothing to keep him from stumbling excitedly to his feet to face his visitors.

Mira. Milou. Kuris.

Bloodshot eyes drank the three in, desperately re-familiarizing himself with faces he’d once known better than his own. How he could have mistaken anyone else for them he didn’t know – the thralls he’d made bore barely a passing resemblance. Faded paintings against the living, breathing reality that stood before him. Incomparable.

“How?” he breathed, stepping forward with preternatural speed. His mind was too tumultuous to decipher the tense postures and horrified expressions that greeted him as dancing lights threw him into stark relief. Dried blood crusted beneath black nails and tattered armor. An unhealthy gray cast to his skin. The glint of light reflecting off his eyes – a predator’s shine – over a wide, fanged smile. “I can’t believe all of you are here.”

Bash reached up towards Kuris’ face. Gauntleted hands wrapped around his wrists, holding them in place a hairsbreadth shy of contact.

“Wait!” A smaller hand caught in the blackened links of his chainmail, a flare of magic blooming out from the contact and twining around him like vines. Milou looked up at him, tense and wide-eyed. “Bash, just… just don’t move for a minute yeah?” Her voice broke but the spell bound him tight.

“...Alright.” His muscles relaxed under the onus of the magic without any attempt to resist, simply looking from Milou’s clenched jaw to Kuris’ furrowed brow and lastly to Mira’s fierce frown as she stepped to his other side and dropped a hand on his shoulder. The warm tide of happiness that had been swamping him slowly receded leaving the chilly reality behind.

For a second he had forgotten what he’d become.

“Why are you here?” he finally managed to ask, breaking the charged silence that had fallen. Mira’s hold on his shoulder tightened, reflexive. No one answered – not that he really needed them to.

“Bash.” Undemanding though the call was, Bash couldn’t resist his gaze being dragged up and caught by Kuris’. Bash still couldn’t move but they could, stepping forward so that Bash’s hands – still hanging suspended between them – settled over their cheeks. Bloodstained but familiar despite it all. “What can we do?”

Eyes closing, Bash reveled in the feeling of having his family all around him again. Tension trickled away from him entirely. Kuris’ hands still around his wrists, Mira and Milou at his sides holding him in place with might and magic. They hadn’t brought Lei or Ellia with them.

“Kuris, love, you already know the answer to that,” he smiled, letting his fangs prick his lip. An answer and a reminder. At his side Milou pulled at his chainmail and he obligingly looked down at her, at the stubbornly defiant look in her eyes. “You know I’m right.”

“Shut up.” Mira’s grip on his shoulder would have left bruises if he still had his own blood to pool beneath the skin and her voice was just as rough. Bash turned his head, feeling Milou’s magic melt away after a second’s pause, and met Mira’s glare. Furious tears were coursing down her face.

“Please,” he whispered and she quickly looked away. Gently tugging one of his hands free, he patted Mira’s where it pressed against his shoulder.

Kuris’ hand wrapped around the back of Bash’s neck and pulled him forward; he let himself be pulled, forehead dropping down into the crook of their shoulder. He could hear their pulse calling to him, so close he could practically taste it, but he would have rather slit his own throat than sate that thirst with their blood. Maybe they knew that because there was no hesitation as they held him close, no renewed flare of magic from Milou, no more tension from the shaking hand on his shoulder.

There was nothing but the warmth of his family and the sharp press of a stake through his back.

Heat more than pain spread from his pierced heart, rapidly draining his energy. With the last bit of his strength he gave Mira’s hand a last squeeze then let it fall to his side to land on Milou’s head, too weak to do more than let it rest there as more of his weight drooped forward onto Kuris. Kept upright only by the hold his family had on him.

“Tell-” Bash paused, breath escaping from his lungs.

“We’ll tell them.” Kuris answered before he could draw breath to finish, voice choked as they stroked the back of his neck.

“An-”

“Us too. We know,” Milou cut him off, her hold on Bash white-knuckled even as there was less and less of him to hold onto. “We know.” Wrapping an arm around him from behind, he could feel Mira nod in silent agreement against his shoulder.

With the first touch of peace he’d felt in too long, Bash’s body fell to ash leaving behind only memory.

[foggyworksbutbetter]

sorry for being way inactive, school started up and getting into my schedule and everything has been real hectic, my apologies !! 🫶

this is my very in depth explanation of why silver spoon is actually one of the best inanimate insanity characters, i will not be taking any royal comments at this time

at his introduction, he is introduced as this snobby, assumedly wealthy (silver spoons literally represent wealth), and self-centered. for good reason, many people did not like him. but, as he grew and matured throughout the series, many people didn’t pick up on his change in attitude, and still seem him as somebody he’s not.

i think the first lesson for him was during the overthinkers, when he was so dead-set on the idea that candle’s powers come from her literal flame, and not the internal flame burning inside. he doesn’t see more than what’s on the surface, a literal reflection of how his teammates see him. if you want to get more literal, spoons are reflective.

due to his tendency to crave and sometimes even need recognition from his peers, he acts out a lot. his paranoia about how others see him was especially triggered in snapshot showdown, where at the end he actually loosens up when he realizes that how other people view him doesn’t change how he views himself.

in title tbd he and paintbrush work out their differences and realize they aren’t so different. they somehow made a collaborative piece that combined both their interests into one cohesive story, which anybody who’s tried to do that knows is excruciatingly hard. there’s a lot of compromising, something silver—and occasionally paintbrush—is not known for. understanding that he didn’t have to get negative attention to be seen was an important step in his growth.

in pesty besties he initially tries to trade away his pet because he judges it by it’s appearance. although the fact that he got the ugly one because of his ugly personality is played off as a joke, they actually resemble each other a lot. his pet, named utter filth, is judged based only on mephone’s first impression of it, much like silver. i think he sees himself in it, which is why he’s sad to see it gone. that constant need to love, to be loved, or even just recognized, plagues him throughout the entire series.

obviously, his relationship with candle is one of the most telling parts of his character development, and really the whole reason for it. candle saw past his harsh exterior, and helped him realize the person he is inside. his inner flame, if you will. she saw somebody who is desperate to be seen, paranoid about his appearance, and looking for a real friend. especially as candle’s team stopped relying on her, she needed him in her corner just as much as he needed her in his. to quote candle in her exit interview “there was a time i was sure he’d move on like everyone else, but had not. it was… fascinating.” her exit interview doesn’t provide a lot more insight into her and silver’s relationship, it seems like it was kept intentionally vague. even still, their bond continued even past her elimination, and silver used what he had learned from her to his advantage in the latest episode. everything he did in iii14 shows how he is no longer playing for himself, but for someone else. somebody who showed him kindness when he didn’t deserve it.

[a-heart-of-kyber]

Lila spent 5 silver on a plan she got mom shamed out of doing by Vala in a nat20 insight v nat20 deception roll off.

[myrkar]

Valis, Oath of Conquest Paladin

She also likes coffee and cats.

[pyrotechnicdarts]

picking up watercolor for the first time in years with my oc Oleander, last of the Silver Sentinel

[siramory]

one page.

[legendoftherisingtide]

grrr i hate you world let me play dnd with my friends

[askglassanon]

Absolutely

[ he floats upside down ]

Where is papa ?

I don't know actually... I haven't seen him in awhile

Maybe he's busy - Glass

[doublebattled]

updating my friends who haven't been in the rpc for a hot minute on the pwt shenanigans and its very entertaining let me tell you

[luciliustheforsworn]

tag drop ;