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truthfulstars · 5 years

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Time Stops

“Time stops but still your heart is beating—time stops though you don't take a breath. She's there and all you've ever wanted is nearer, clearer…I used to think the world was small, now I don't think that way at all.”

There was something about a summer night in the Neverwinter Woods that couldn’t be refused— at least, as long as Rowan Thennis had been invited by his brother on behalf of the rangers. It was rare that the elven and human rangers teamed up, but the Drow were a common enemy, and one that needed as much manpower as possible. From what he had gathered from his twin brother’s letter, they’d been testing the defenses for about a month now, and it was going to have casualties if they didn’t nip it in the bud.

There was something electric in the air as runes were carved and painted around the camp— tongues, so the two parties wouldn’t have to bother with translation— and tents were set up. They’d take shifts for watch, the parties a mix of races in order to give them a better chance at seeing danger, and the elven leader— Dassar Naitecú— mentioned that he’d asked a nearby temple for assistance. If the intel was right, they wouldn’t have any Drow to deal with until the next day, but no one wanted to risk being caught unprepared.

He’d been relaxing by the fire, a flask in one hand, when the sound of horses caught everyone’s attention. For a moment, he saw nothing, but the excited greetings of a few elven men told him as much as he needed to know until the women came into view. The women were both wearing robes— the frontmost in blue silk, while the other wore silver— a strange symbol embroidered on their sashes. Clerics, he knew that much, and high ranking ones at that.

The woman in blue easily dismounted her horse, and Rowan immediately felt as if he should bow to her, his heart stalling as she looked over the group. Everything about her—from her robes to the silver circlet in her blonde hair—seemed almost regal as she stepped into the light, her footsteps silent. The trance he was in broke after what felt like years, the leader of the elven rangers laughing loudly before pulling her into a hug.

“Aurae, you brat, you’re late!” Dassar said, getting an annoyed look from the woman as he tousled her hair.

“We would have been early, but Ailred wanted to pray one last time to Sehaine before we left— it’s a waning crescent, and she’s nervous.” Despite her somber expression, she spared Naitëcu a smile before rolling her eyes, grabbing her own pack from the saddlebags.

“To everyone who doesn’t already know, this is my older sister— Aurae Naitëcu, Servant of Corellon Larethian, and a member of the Reverend Ones.” Dassar said, grabbing the rest of her things as he gave the horse a loving pat. “She and Ailred Ornthalas have been sent to help patch up anyone who needs more than a healing potion and a slap on the back, so be nice to them or they’ll throw you to the spiders.”

“You couldn’t wait to throw my titles in there, could you, Lieutenant?”

“It’s not every day your older sister finally gets accepted into The Reverend Ones after two hundred years of training— it’s about damn time!”

Rowan watched the siblings bicker back and forth, noticing how the smell of incense hung in the air long after she had left. He was so focused on them that he barely noticed a half-elven man sit next to his brother, offering Leon a drink as he settled back against the log they were leaning on.

“Ailred’s asked them to make the camp invisible to outsiders, just in case someone tries to ambush us tonight.” He said, motioning to the men already hurrying to start the ritual. “Apparently, they both have a bad feeling about tonight— enough that they’re gonna be praying to Sehaine Moonbow and Corellon Larethian until daybreak.”

Rowan could see the blonde woman in her tent, a small altar by the entrance. “What was that Revered Ones thing that Dassar talked about— some kind of clergy?”

“The Reverend Ones, Corellon’s army even in death, and the only kind of soldier that is just as helpful when dead as alive.” He replied, pointing out the insignia on the women’s saddlebags. “They both belong to the best of the best of elvenkind; warriors, archers, spellcasters, and everything in between that pledged themselves to The Protector. When they die, they’ll go to Arvandor like the rest, but their afterlife will be training for the day they need to go defend the elven people from a dangerous enough threat to warrant an army of ghosts… or whatever they’re gonna be. So far, there hasn’t been something so evil that he felt the need to send them in.”

“Sounds like a shitty way to spend your time in paradise.” Leon scoffed, glancing at the armor that the blonde woman had unpacked and left beside her altar.

“It’s the highest honor, and it comes with the highest cost.” The half-elf replied. “Either way, I’m glad that my Ma being human excluded me from it— I’d like to spend my days in Arvandor chugging wine and relaxing in the sun.”

Rowan was barely listening as they spoke, instead watching how the cleric moved around the tents, setting up what would become their makeshift hospital a week’s journey from the nearest healer. It was just as enchanting as it was worrying, the same energy from before renewed as dim moonlight filtered through the trees.

“I’m surprised you even heard the watch order with the amount of drooling you were doing.” Leon said hours later, skipping a rock across the surface of the creek. The two elven scouts with them had stopped to relieve themselves, and there was no use waiting around for them to finish. “Four skips.”

“Did you see that woman— the blonde with the crown on? Lathander’s dawn, it reminded me of that one cleric of Sune from Neverwinter, the one who was both beautiful and looked like she could crack your spine with one hit.” He skipped his own rock, giving Leon a short glance as it only skipped twice. “Five.”

“You fucking liar— and I remember you getting red in the face every time we saw her on our way to and from the market with our father.” Leon replied. “Don’t fuck with her, Ro, I don’t want to be the reason Dassar cuts ties with our squadron.”

“I don’t want to fuck with her, I just want to talk to her!” He insisted, ignoring his brother’s look of annoyance. “She’s— I don’t know, Lee, I want to bow to her and listen to her talk for hours and just be there with her. She’s… she’s something different.”

Something shifting in the forest caught their attention, ending the conversation as Rowan unsheathed his sword and Leon notched an arrow in his crossbow. The sounds of animals and insects had silenced, the only sounds coming from the two men’s heavy breathing as they tried to find the source.

A glassy figure caught Rowan’s eye moments before he was almost knocked over, a spider the size of his brother’s hunting dog on his chest. He felt something scratching at his side, a horrified scream breaking loose as he dropped his sword in order to try to break free. A heavy thunk and a shriek from the creature was the last thing he heard before he was being pulled away, a knife .

“Where the fuck did it go?” Rowan asked, head on a swivel as he looked around the dark forest.

“Phase Spider— fuck, I fucking hate spiders, especially these fuckers.” Leon hissed, his dagger dripping with blood.

Rowan cringed as he pressed his back against his brother’s, sword in hand once more as he tried to listen for the spider. There had been plenty near the caves back in Rothé Valley, a friendly reminder of the Drow that lived nearby.

“You’re a ranger in the Neverwinter Woods— how the fuck can you fight drow all day and still be scared of spiders?”

He asked as he heard another shifting sound, hands checking his sides where the spider had tried to get access to his skin.

“I dunno, Ro, something about a spider the size of a dog really turns me off!”

At that, he couldn’t help but laugh, looking over his shoulder at his twin’s pale face. “Well, thank Lathander you aren’t sexually attracted to the tarantula trying to eat us right—“

“Three o’clock!”

Rowan shifted to the right direction, sword ready as the spider shifted in and out of their vision. He did his best to block it’s next attack with his arm, the sound of metal clanging as the creature struck his plate armor, stabbing his sword into it as Leon unsheathed his dagger once more, preparing to jump in if he need to.

“Light the flare, Lee, I swear to the gods—“

“I’m fucking trying!”

He felt something give way in his armor moments before the spider disappeared, the straps of his armor severed by its fangs. “Fucking goddamn spider!”

“Did it bite you?” Leon asked, glancing over from his place on the ground, flint in his hand and the flare prepared on the ground.

“No, I’m—“ he was cut off as he checked himself over by a whistling sound, an arrow suddenly embedded in his ribs. He looked to where the arrow had come from, breathing unsteady as his legs gave out from under him. “Lee… light the flare.”

“Ro— shit, hang on!” The flare exploded into the sky, red light illuminating the forest as Rowan gripped his side, face paling as he began to convulse from the poison covering the arrow. “Keep your eyes open, I’ll get you some help.”

Rowan tried to listen to his brother, jaw clenched as his body began to fail him, his heartbeat poisoning in his head and drowning out the sound of harsh undercommon and fighting, his eyes closing as his brother’s hands gripped the wound on his side.

He didn’t open his eyes again until he noticed the sound of muttered elvish, the smell of incense and herbs bringing him back to consciousness. When he finally managed to sit up, he found himself in the medical tent, the blonde cleric from before kneeling at an altar. He watched her for a moment, smiling tiredly.

“I think Kelemvor made a mistake…” Rowan ground out, glancing at the elven cleric as she sorted through her supplies.

“You‘re fine, don’t worry.” She replied, barely giving him a glance as she lit the incense at the altar, the tongues spell from earlier translating a prayer of thanks to Corellon. “Your brother got you back in time that any damage will be reversed by the time you reach Neverwinter— it’s why I was sent here.”

Rowan laughed, slowly sitting up as carefully as he could after an arrow was buried in his ribs just hours ago. “No, you aren’t hearing me— I must’ve been sent to Arvandor, because I’m pretty sure I’m looking at a goddess right now.”

“Most of the Elven gods are genderfluid, or at least have the ability to change at will.” Aurae replied, looking at him quizzically.

“I wouldn’t mind one bit, as long as it’s you.”

For a moment, Aurae stared at him in confusion, before a smile spread across her face. NOW the penny drops. “Protector’s blood— and I thought I’d heard my fill of terrible one-liners in three hundred years.”

“Maybe share a drink with me when this is all over, I can come up with a better one.”

“Lie down, before you rip your stitches.” Although her voice was stern, there was still a spark of amusement in her silver eyes, the blue robes and insignia of The Reverend Ones not as imposing as before.

“That’s not an answer,” Rowan insisted, smiling weakly as he gripped his side. So, perhaps making himself laugh with part of an arrowhead still in his ribs wasn’t the best idea, but he’d do it over and over again in order to see her smile again.

“If you go to sleep, I’ll think about it.”

She handed him a drink, his eyes heavy almost the moment it touched his lips. There were thousands of things he wanted to say as he slipped back into unconsciousness, the feeling of her hand on his shoulder the last thing he recognized as he closed his eyes. ”Wait… for… me.”

Aurae gently brushed the hair out of his eyes, covering him with a blanket her brother’s rangers had brought as his breathing evened. His brother was outside, most likely going to want to see him the next time he woke up. She gave the man an amused look, opening the tent up to his friends. “I’ll be here, don’t worry.”

#the slave; mylvera thennis #technically its about her parents meeting #but its how she eventually came to be #also side note her dad was hella bi and her mom was as well #we stan all bisexuals even ones in het relationships #d&d 5e #d&d fic

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truthfulstars · 5 years

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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

#d&d #d&d character #d&d 5e #slavery tw #mental illness tw

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