#elf of erosion

[dark-hybrid-ninja]

Luis walks down the sidewalk with his hands in his pockets, listening to music with his wireless headphones. He was tearing up a bit, as he cried not too long ago.

*right as he did walk the older Half elf twin named Taiken accidentally bumps into Luis knocking him down* "Oh dear...im so sorry, are you alright?" *he held his hand out to help him up*

#the yagyu twins #the sundering sirens #elf of erosion #ic #elf x human #first encounter

[decima-does-art]

The scene was described one way, but by God did it feel some other way

-

My commissions are open! See pinned post for details

#my art #dnd #dungeons and dragons #tiefling #half elf #tomb of annihilation #oc tag #aime #erosed

[pursuitseternal]

“Recalling:” update to ETL Astarion x Tav(OC) in “Our Blood is Thicker”

Astarion x F!OC | E | 3.5K Dark Tragic Backstory

Summary: dawn before battle, Cordehlia ponders her past, recalling the monster she was… reassured by her companions that even monsters need someone to lead them, accept them, and in Astarion’s case, lust for her…

Dawn, Goblin Camp raid, Rescuing Halsin, Unaliving the Goblin leaders

CW: Violence, bloodshed, blood kink(umm vampire), trauma bonding with Karach and Astarion, Dark

Backstory for our F!OC, massive amounts of flirtation with the Vampire, effective use of the Tadpole as a way of communicating said Dark Backstory with everyone, NPC character death…

Previous chapter | ao3 link | Astarion Masterlist

Chapter 5: Recalling

💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞

Dawn kissed the woods, the soft light breaking, making the Emerald Glade really, truly verdant. Aptly named, Cordehlia thought to herself, sitting atop the knoll. She looked down into the sun. It had been decades since she had last stared into the sun, the dawn before battle.

But old habits die hard, as she knew. And a hundred years of shedding blood became more than muscle memory for her. A hundred years of the same pleading before her blade tasted flesh, begging for forgiveness, begging for mercy from the lives that would be taken today.

Pleading that when she falls to the slow embrace of death, that her judgment would be swift and just.

She could hear the rustling of her band awakening with the light. Strange, she pondered, musing how they all trusted her unendingly. Recalling all that she had done. Recalling all she had been. Foul and dark.

If they knew who walked among them… even the mortals, so young compared to her and the longevity of her sins… surely even they had heard tales…

Cordehlia took a deep breath, her mind turning quickly from those memories of battle. She tried to bury herself in that feeling of him…

That kiss, Gods had it felt good. Unchanged by the erosion of time, his fervor, his devotion. The pure flame that was Astarion’s soul, bright as the stars he was named for.

She could taste him, not as the vampire he became, but as… the one whose soul she had loved. It was magical, as if time itself stood still, being consumed by him, feeling his remembrance, the way his body transported her two-hundred years. It was… eerily the same. His hands… his taste… the little tangles of his tongue between her lips.

She closed her eyes. Gods, if she could give anything to reclaim that feeling, of being thrown back before… before all this darkness and blood. For both of them. Recalling what was once good about her…

Footsteps drawing up the hill made her almost leap from her skin, her fingers patting her cheeks, as if she could hide the blush that thinking of him called to her face. She didn’t want him to see her lusting after him so badly. Not yet, even though she suspected he would be more than pleased… perhaps pleasured even.

Gods, she swallowed at the thought.

Clearing her throat, she turned to smile at the uninvited company, but it wasn’t a handsome pale face leering down at her.

Karlach grinned, sparking brighter than the dawn. Her unabashedly joyful smile made her stomach sicken. “Seems I’m not the only soldier that needs a moment before battle, eh?”

“Seems that way,” she forced a smile, her hand patting the ground beside her a split second before Karlach helped herself to the company.

“You know, Cordehlia,” she spoke, drawing her knees into her chest. “I can see the way you love and hate the battle. Something you’re good at, maybe too good. But not something you chose for yourself, isn’t that it?”

“How…” the She-elf turned, every nerve in her body on fire to defend.

But Karlach just laughed quietly. “Because it’s a mirror to myself. I didn’t choose to become… what I am… Advocatus Diaboli, as Wyll was so quick to label me.”

She swallowed, voice still steady, even as Cordehlia could feel the pain flowing from her Tiefling companion. “I was also taken, not unlike your vampire boyfriend.”

Cordehlia groaned, but let the insinuation pass.

With a breath, she continued. “I was robbed of a future, imprisoned, experimented on… made into the person I am through no choice of my own.” Then, she turned those glowing eyes on the elf beside her. “But that doesn’t make me anything less than what I am. It doesn’t change my freedom now, you know, same as Astarion,” she nodded her head somberly, “same as you.”

Cordehlia scoffed. “I’m not free, however.”

The pain in her voice even pierced her own heart.

“I was never forced into being the dark thing I was… and I didn’t choose to stop being the creature I had become. I was forced to stop. I… I loved it. I lived for it, when I was in the deepest throes of that life. It was… thrilling. Addicting.” She breathed, bunching her own knees into her chest, same as her friend. “But I was brought before the High Council, deemed too dark for my own kind. I was forced to retire, to live peaceably alone. To atone for my sins and darkness…” She looked into Karach’s worried face. “You wonder why I’m not quick to condemn anyone as a monster? It’s because I would be their queen. I can’t condemn those who are less monstrous than I.”

Karlach said nothing, watching as Cordehlia turned her face into the light again. Watching those silver eyes flutter shut, her chest shaking with breaths as she struggled to continue. “They even told stories about me, to scare the young ones into submission, all along the Sword Coast, they still tell the fables about… what I was…”

A hot hand rested on the top of her knee. “If it helps, it is what you once was…” she grimaced, “once were.” She laughed at the correction. “And we monsters are glad for your company, your leadership, Cordehlia.”

The elf met her gaze then, as the tiefling’s hand slipped away. Her chin shook, eyes wet with unshed tears. Karlach just gave her a gentle, reassuring smile, “Hey, soldier, if anyone knows what it’s like to put yourself back together after being made a war machine, it’s me, okay?”

“Thank you,” she managed to reply.

“Now,” Karlach stood and smiled. “I’ve got your back, and you still got your soul, you hear me?” She waited for a teary breath and a nod. “Let’s go get a Druid who can get these things out of our brains and take out some Goblins, eh?”

Cordehlia managed a laugh, rising to her feet as well, hiding the sniffle she made as they walked back down to camp.

But her heart rapt harshly in her ribs to see the first face that sought her out as she made it back.

Astarion grinned his greeting, flashing those beautiful, terrifying fangs at her. “Morning, my sweet,” he bid, so happily. “I don’t know about you, but I had some of the most… delicious dreams…” That genteel grin twisted, desirous and bright. “Let’s just say there was a lot of pale skin, soft breasts and bright red hair everywhere I wanted it to be…”

Her stomach lurched. The rush of emotions from grief to lust, from self-loathing to desire… She placed a hand on her belly, her insides heaving at the all-too-rapid shift of her heart.

His eyes narrowed, scanning her blanching face before following the wake of the Tiefling. “What’s the matter?” he queried, harsh in tone. “Did Karlach do something to you?”

“No,” she took a breath, waiting for her body to return to her. “I’m fine.”

“You look it, darling.” He chuckled sarcastically, “Fine, I mean.”

“What? Not delicious?” she threw the taunt back. Her head clearing, her muscles easing.

“Always,” he growled, that sultry smirk instantly replacing any trace of concern. “For a moment I was worried that the idea of us fucking made your stomach sour,” he continued.

She gave a disbelieving laugh. “Once, it would have, you know,” she chimed, letting the barb catch him off guard.

He gasped in feigned injury, “Darling, I would be wounded,” he drew himself closer to her body, that slow, stealthy creep that made her shiver, “if it weren’t for the resounding past-tense of what you say…”

The implication hung in the air between them, in whatever minimal distance did remain between their bodies. And Codehlia let it, grinning, mouth twitching to think that it wasn’t inaccurate, his reading.

But she drew back a step. “You do know it’s morning, dawn before battle? We have much to accomplish before anyone can even dream of such delightful pursuits.”

“Yes yes,” Astarion flicked his wrist before tapping both hands on the sheathed daggers at his waist. “Infiltrate the nasty little Goblins, get the Druid, get these worms out of our heads…”

“Precisely,” she began to turn, but his cold, iron grip caught her hand from her side, pulling her after him, commandingly leading her back into his tent.

“I need to tell you,” he spoke quickly, quietly, once the flap fell behind her. “I’m not too fond of the idea of a Druid joining our ranks,” he grimaced. “They are loud and hot-blooded, and so… earthy.” His eyes skimmed over her body. “And they will be eager to mate with anything and everything they set eyes upon…”

“Jealous?” she grinned, folding her arms across her chest, an amused smile teasing her lips.

“Of course,” he replied coolly, eyes narrowing to that half-lidded stare that seemed to pierce right through the clothing she wore. “After all, I am just beginning to remember who I was… what we were… I would hate for some lusty wildform to waltz in here and ruin things.”

“Funny,” she continued to taunt. “You didn’t seem too worried about a human warlock the other night.”

“Please,” he shook his head, all wry-humored and sultry. “As if…” he gagged, “Wyll,” he spat the name in disgust, “could compare to my levels of charm and good looks.” He took a breath, his face softening in a seconds, crimson eyes wide as he looked down on her. “Which brings me to the next thing I wanted to tell you. I wanted to, to thank you for all our little understanding…”

Her brows furrowed. “Of letting you feed?”

“Yes, naturally,” he nodded. Sincere in every outward way. “You were my first you know…”

Her lips pressed firmly at his words, almost imperceptible, but he took note of the reaction. A little further hint to their past, perhaps, that he stashed away.

“You are my first living blood, first thinking blood. Drinking from one such as you was forbidden me. I was made to live on rats, mice, foul vermin, or starved until I was nearly too weak to be good for anything. That was my… reward… for the victims I would lure back for Cazador.” He spat the name. “A moldering rat as a treat for my obedience.” He huffed a disparaging laugh, scanning her questioning gaze. “I can see your thoughts, darling, why not just try to feed on my own? Well, as if I could disobey his command not to even try to sample something else.”

He looked so forlorn. As if even the words he shared couldn’t possibly describe what it was he endured. Suffered.

Unphased, he continued, “That’s the thing about vampire spawn, you know, they are compelled to obey, forced in their bodies to do… whatever is ordered of them.”

A moment passed between them before he looked up. Her eyes were soft, her face rife with concern. He was glad of it.

“Thank you,” she breathed. “For telling me.”

“I only wanted you to know my plight before we add another rutting male to our midst,” he crooned with a sneer. “I depend on you, you know, darling….”

Cordehlia gave a little hum, patting the chilled cheek of her rogue. “If you wanted to make certain I value you, Astarion, you don’t need to go to such lengths to convince me, you know.” She smiled, “A simple, please allow me to keep feeding on you, would suffice. Though your way with words is so skilled and eloquent.” Her brows raised as he began to smile too, “Even more than I recall.”

“Two hundred years of living on nothing but your wits and good looks makes you learn all things new,” he taunted in reply. Even as his smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“Is that why you pulled me in here alone, Astarion?” she pressed.

“Well…” he flashed that look again, the one rife with danger that made her belly flutter. “I wanted you to be my first thinking blood, you know… I wanted to know how you tasted.”

That last word sent her stomach fluttering again, her nerves burning.

“I wanted to thank you for such a favor, darling. And after the way you kissed me yesterday…”

“You kissed me, you mean?” she taunted, her face unmoving as she watched him take the barb in perfect stride. Making him smirk all the wider. All the hungrier.

“Regardless, you seemed to… enjoy it too. It just gave me ideas… of ways to thank you properly, you know.”

“Oh,” she grinned, innocent and bouncing on her toes. “You mean like fighting in battle today? Being a critical part of our party? Keeping me from losing all control on the battlefield?”

“And why would I do that?” he purred, letting his fingers stroke up the sheathed blade that hung at her side. “You are most attractive in battle from what I have seen. Magnificent, intelligent. Do not deny yourself that chance to shine, darling.” He leaned closer until his breath passed between her panting lips. “And besides, I’m certainly hoping that bloodlust from today becomes plain, old, carnal lust by nightfall.”

Her face is hardened, a distant fire behind her eyes. Her breathing is so faint, he had to lean in close to even hear it. “Take care, Ancunín,” she hissed. “You have yet to see the real monster that lurks beneath me in battle.”

“I hope she’s fearsome to behold,” he grinned, letting his hand wander up from her weapon, grazing her hip to tug her just that bit closer, to pull her against his body. “I’m sure she is nothing to be ashamed of, as one monster to another.”

She shivered under his touch. “You are not one, not compared to me.”

“Well, as you have said to me, darling, when you’re ready, I’ll listen. I’m all pointy ears, love.”

That made her huff a laugh, a slight smile peeking at the corner of her lips.

Nothing could come from her mouth. No words. No amount of gratitude, of awe for the way he didn’t push or recoil. His hand just pressed into her lower back, his lips waiting to see what she would do.

Hells take it if she didn’t give him a little sign of her thanks. She raised on her toes, pressing her lips to his.

Almost surprised, he accepted it, her quick little peck, letting her step away, out of the shadows of his tent.

—————

The goblin camp stank, just as they all had, Cordehlia wrinkled her nose.

At least, the Druid was freed. But victory was far from near. Halsin brimmed with gratitude, even as Astarion failed to hide his eyes rolls. “Funny way of showing thankfulness, giving us another mission,” he grumbled as they left the Druid behind. Three Goblin leaders to dispatch would be no meager task.

Cordehlia shushed him, but he only continued to hiss his complaints as they crept deeper into the camp. “I’ll try not to think of it as helping, mind you, just gaining some other opportunities to dispatch more of these Goblin trash…”

“How altruistic of you,” Gale let the sarcasm fly in reply.

Astarion turned that insincere smirk at the Wizard. “You all keep using that word to describe my choices. I’m beginning to think you’re the ones who don’t know its meaning….”

“Hush,” Cordehlia rounded on the pair of them, only making Kalrach snigger as well. “We must be cautious, these are no dumb Goblins. They think us True Souls. It will take cunning, especially against Drow warrior Minthara…”

As if on command, the entryway opened to a greet chamber, the dark skinned, ruthless Drow bellowing orders at the other end.

Her sharp gaze glanced quickly. Her smile sickeningly twisted. “Speak, are you here to join the battle?”

Cordehlia stepped with all the confidence centuries of bloodshed could give her. “Hail, True Soul,” the She-elf nodded her head. “We are sent to aid in the ravaging of the Grove.”

“Prove it,” Minthara snipped, her hand drawing her blade. “You are not Goblin nor Drow, and as such, I have no qualms with spilling your guts on the ground for fodder.”

“Very well,” Cordehlia replied, more exacting in her voice than even her foe.

She raised her hand, calling upon the worm…

The ground ran red. Blood. Elven and wizard and alien, it smelled delicious. Her feet squelched in it, the lives of her enemies drained by her hand. She resheathed her dagger, bright metal, etched with a signet near the tang.

A Raven, a black bird in a dive.

She began to brush the blood from her coal-black armor. The pattern of feathers collecting the crimson running down her body.

Cordehlia took a deep breath, looking at her field of glory one more time. For her people. For herself.

Everyone gasped as they returned to the caves, their consciousness all stunned as her band looked at Cordehlia, up and down. Their minds all linked by the worm, her vision in their heads too. The recalling of her past, dark and bloodied, as it broke upon them all.

“My my,” Minthara crooned, impressed as she resheathed her blade. “I know of that blade, that chilling reputation. The Absolute surely knows how to choose souls for her service. It has been ages since you have been seen, isn’t that right?”

“Half a century, by the reckoning of my people,” she replied, her tone distant. Harsh. “They would like to think I’m dead. Forgotten.”

“That will not be your fate with the Absolute, and not with me, my Lady Corvus,” Minthara bowed. Low, bending at the waist.

She could hear the way her band’s breath froze. But she couldn’t reply. Not yet. “My company of True Souls needs a moment of respite, if you will give it to us. Those damned Druids depleted our resources, but we know where they are. My scout will give you the location once we tend to our needs, Lady Minthara.”

“Of course,” smiled the Drow, dismissing them with a wave.

She held her head high, marching them down to the corner of the cavern. Of course, it was Gale who stared Cordehlia square in the eyes once they were alone. “The Lady Corvus, Bone Picker, most intelligent elven warrior of her kind, so ruthless in battle, every bone of her enemies was left bare.”

She shook her head. “You see now,” she sighed. Mouth twitching. Eyes cold. “You all pale in comparison to me, no one can match my monstrosity.”

“Ahem,” Astarion cleared his voice right beside her. “First of all, you say pale and monstrosity like they’re bad things….”

“Astarion!” Gale snipped to interrupt, but the Pale Elf just held up his hand to silence him.

“You don’t know half the things I’ve done… that perhaps any of us have done. And yet you don’t turn us away,” he continued. His voice was smooth, gentle, not dripping in seduction, but wrapped in comfort. “We won’t turn from you either, you know, whether you are Lady Corvus, or just Cordehlia.”

“That’s right, soldier,” Karlach was the first to pat her on the shoulder. Rough and steady. “Why, I’ve severed more heads than I’ve kissed faces.”

“I’ve damned a thousand souls for Cazador’s meals,” Astarion added, a smile on his face. “Bet I’ve done worse than you, Lady Corvus…”

“You wish to compare body count?” she gave a single, dark laugh.

“Well, we know whose hands are bloodier now at any rate,” he quipped.

“You mean face, I believe,” Karlach pointed as she guffawed.

“Shhh,” Cordehlia suddenly held up her hands. “We are supposed to be evil. Not some silly band of youths here to loot and pilfer.”

“Tch,” Astarion smirked. “You’re no fun if we can’t do that…”

Minthara did stride over, frowning at the sound laughter and merriment. “Well, it is curious to see such mirth in the warriors of Lady Corvus,” she hissed. “I’m surprised, given the tales of your deeds, your bloodshed.” Her thin lips quirked. “Have the decades of seclusion softened you? Does the Absolute know of your…”

Her breath left her body. The quick work of Cordehlia’s dagger shoved between her ribs. “The Absolute can rot, and so can these brainworms,” she hissed into Minthara’s dark, pointed ear.

Cordehlia’s eyes looked into the Drow’s, watching the light fade from them, a dark smile on her lips. Then, those silver eyes flashed at the rest of her party. “Get them,” she ordered, a nod of her head at the rest of the Goblin hoard.

Gale and Karlach snuck off, the wizard’s hands glowing already, the Tiefling’s ax ringing in her hand as she swung if off her back. But it was Astarion who lingered and grinned at her, watching as she dropped the body of their enemy at her feet. “With pleasure,” he purred, snatching her bloodied dagger in his hand. The Drow’s blood dripping down the bright blade, the etching of the Raven near the hilt darkened red.

He licked her blade clean, his eyes locked into hers, watching her chest heaving, her eyes hazy as she watched every little flick his pink tongue made along her weapon before he handed it back.

#enemies to lovers #astarion x oc #astarion x f!tav #astarion x female tav #astarion x female oc #I mean she’s not a Durge but same vibes honestly #astarion angst #astarion ancunin #baldurs gate astarion #astarion smut #baldur’s gate astarion #baldur's gate 3 astarion #astarion fic #bg3 astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion #astarion fanfic #baldursgate3 #baldur’s gate iii #baldur gate 3 #baldur’s gate spoilers #baldurs gate smut #baldur’s gate 3 #baldur's gate #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate #baldur's gate iii #baldur's gate oc #baldurs gate tav

[tanoraqui]

trick'r treat!

know what, I love this au for which I may never write the longfic it deserves. another notes excerpt:

Reiterate the monstrous grief of these once shining halls being so dark. Celebrimbor subconsciously thought the Dwarves - constant, steady, usually knowing when to keep their noses out of Dooms - would outlast all the foolish endeavors of Elves.

Gimli surprised at Celebrimbor knowing his way around so well, when even with allies, dwarvish halls are traditionally kept more private? Celebrimbor: “Wellll when you’re allies and trading and crafting partners with people for 500-odd years, longer than any of their lifetimes, you get invited in more than any of them remember and you quietly pick things up without mentioning it…”?

Not that there hasn’t been significant (emotionally tragic) remodling! Chamber of Records: used to be a closet but ok

Investigating records… Celebrimbor spots a carving in the wall that might’ve once been a tree like on the Doors, before 1000ish years of mild erosion. Behind it, he finds a half-written letter and several runestones, smooth stones carved with tiny tiny dwarvish script

Letter: To eny elf who reads this: I think the thing that killed Durin is one of your ancient monsters, out of my ancestor Narvi’s tales. Balor said something about whips before he died, and there is fire deep in the shaft. I’ll try to leave word in the Cursed Forest as we pass it.

Celebrimbor Sings the runestone awake, runes of light shimmering in the air above it. Most recently accessed text is (Narvi’s handwriting, recording one of the many tales Celebrimbor told her, for she loved adventure & drama) a description of Balrogs [& key someone’s death no doubt]

(Gimli: “You know how to wake a runestone? Only loremasters [are supposed to] know how to work a runestone!!”

Celebrimbor:“I kind of trick it into thinking I’m a dwarf?”)

Celebrimbor felt like laughing. He felt like weeping.

“Gandalf,” he said, displaying the runes to the Maia, “we have to go. We have to go now.”

#ask meme #lotr #celebrimbor #my fic

[convicted-jay-walker]

Was trying to think about why she would be in Ninjago and running from elvendale.

So they really hate dark magic there and if all a earth elves plants would constantly die around her most people would conclude she was dark magic in some way.

Turns out she just didn’t know she was the elemental master of withering and was just using it unknowingly.

(Was originally calling it erosion but that felt to connected to just land erosion)

When she learns to control it she starts being able to use earth elf magic again. Withering used on items or plants simply weakens and destroys them depending on how much power she puts behind it. On people it’s makes them feel tired to start and then slowly makes them weak and actively makes their powers and body’s weak and ill based on length and strength of exposure. It’s has to be done through touch tho no sapping strength from across the room. It would also take a long time of consistent exposure to her power to weaken someone to not being able to use their power.

It would take 5 minutes of consistent exposure to her power to knock someone out and usually people barley get touched for a few seconds. She’s less battle based with her element it’s more for field use. She would use her earth magic in battle more often.

#Ninjago #lego ninjago #lego elves #lego elves oc #ninjago oc #Ninjago Juniper

[kmenkea]

Bloodlust - Part 8

Summary: "That drow. That damned drow. She was surely plotting something, trying to ruin him in some way, through her pleasantries. It was just in her nature." Doubt creeps in Astarion's mind about his travelling companion. And yet he cannot stop caring. Why does it hurt so much to be betrayed from her? And what if, maybe, he should trust her after all? Why else would she defend him when so close to victory?

A/N: This chapter and the next (probably next 2) are going to be from Astarion's POV. I wanted to experiment with his side of the story and show what he might be feeling (or at least how I HC what he feels)

But, I want to say that I will take a longer break from publishing this fanfic. I want to highlight that it is not over and will keep posting, but I just need a bit of time. I broke up with my long time partner and the thought of romance just makes me feel bad. He was also my beta reader, so that's a problem I'll have to sort somehow lol. anyway, hope you're liking it so far. Let me know what you think.

Read on AO3

(I like the idea of him having golden eyes when alive)

Astarion’s eyes darted through the bushes, following the patch of brown fur hiding among the foliage. His steps were light on the soft ground, so that he was able to get close to the animal. It raised its nose, smelling his presence in the wind, but it was already too late. With a jump, the vampire grabbed both ears of the rabbit. The little beast screeched and kicked upwards to escape, flailing until… a twist. Its body limp and the neck dislocated. Without wasting a second, the vampire bit the rabbit; its little heart pumped its precious blood into his mouth. 

The taste was horrible, wild and muddy, like stale bread. His heart and gut were ignited by agony. The red liquid poured into his mouth and down his throat and he waited for the fire to subsize, for each laceration of his viscera to close, but the respite that came was so miniscule, a balm that only slowed, not stopped the erosion of his insides.

The elf threw the carcass to the ground, swiping his chin with the back of his hand. This was the third animal he ate that evening. By all accounts he should have been full. Gods, he used to drink dead rats and insects, these rabbits would have been a glorious feast just a few weeks ago. But now he wanted more. He was eager for sweetness, to share a soul and feel it slip under his fangs, not to pluck fur from in between his teeth while walking back to camp. 

That drow had absolutely ruined him. 

Everytime a drop of her blood was spilled, his senses couldn’t help but flare up, his stomach churn and growl and his fingers twitch in anticipation. He wanted her neck so badly, to bite into that soft warm flesh and take all for himself, everything he had missed in two hundred years of undeath. It smelled of gracious elven blood, but with deep, dark notes of moss. Cool like an underground lake, yet fiery and violent like lava. Abyssal and chaotic, losing his mind in a spiral that forced him down towards her.

He let out a sigh as his knees almost went limp, reminiscing of that glorious taste. 

He reached the safety of their camp, back in the wilderness and his eyes couldn’t help but fall on Leeith: she was laying down near the fire with Karlach, Shadowheart hovering over them: both of their feet had been badly mangled by traps hidden below the mud of the swamp. It looked like such a peaceful lakeside forest, until the illusion vanished and all that was left was rotting wood and, well, traps that neither of them noticed. They were forced to cut the day short and return to camp. Lae’zel and Wyll were in charge of finding food and preparing their camp. 

He caught a whiff of that delicious honey, and the flame in his heart rose again, opening his wounds. He was hungry again. 

But everything was lost.

It took all his might to ignore them and hide in the safety of his little tent. 

All and all, it was a cosy little space: it was cramped and dark, littered with old dirty jars. The smell of old blood filled his nostrils and, even if it was almost putrid, it was welcome: at least the disgust pushed away the longing for better food. What a beautiful ambience!

In the dark, he took off his cumbersome gambeson and heavy boots, changing them for soft leather shoes and his clean shirt. Astarion's hands smoothed out the fabric over his chest, picking a leaf or two out of the threads and checking his trousers for any stain. Surely he looked perfect as always, didn't even need a mirror to know he was astonishingly handsome and his hair was set up perfectly. His face with his… lips? What shape were they again? He traced a finger over them, feeling the little incave in the middle and how strong the curvature was. He imprinted it into his mind, or at least tried to see it. It didn't matter, he knew his lips were hardly his best feature, surely his eyes were much more important, with perfect eyebrows and long eyelashes, surely. He passed a finger over them, but it was no use. 

He couldn't see it. He couldn't remember his face at all. He reached for a little mirror, thrown carelessly under his bedroll: there he was. Or should have been. Understandable, his tent was extremely dark, he just needed to step foot outside, feel the torchlight shine in his eyes, raise the mirror again and… still nothing. He stared into the mirror more, to catch even a glimpse of his forsaken and forgotten eyes. All was truly lost. Even the tadpole couldn't give back himself.

Like clockwork, there she was, walking towards him, less spring in her step, but still gracious and inviting. It was time for their evening conversation, apparently; everyday, a little bit of time they would carve for one another. It was almost pleasurable.

The vampire's heart twisted and burnt again, his hunger yet again demanded to be satisfied. It could have been so easy to ask for blood from the drow, but could he pay the price? If one single thing was true about her, is that nothing of hers was free. Surely he could have asked for blood or help with the necromancer's tome or a number of other things, but what was the cost going to be? Sex he could give, but to be bound to her forever, like she asked the night prior? Switch a master for another? Unthinkable. 

She stopped dead in her tracks, staring at him with those deep red eyes. They probably were the same colour as his, if he had to guess.

“Looking at something?” He met her gaze in the reflection of the mirror. The drow's expression was just plain.

“Just looking. What are you doing?” She raised an eyebrow, motioning at the empty mirror.

“I'm looking too, but not seeing very much. Another quirk of my… affliction.” Leeith gave an understanding nod, still standing behind him. She knew of his little reflection problem already, so his answer wasn't surprising.

“Do you miss it? Looking at your face” Such a sweet and understanding voice, it almost made him believe she did care about his sorry carcass. Astarion turned around to face her, wearing a little snobbish grin.

“Preening in the looking glass? Petty vanity? Of course I miss it. I've never even seen this face, not since it grew fangs and my eyes turned red.” The drow nodded, mentioning something about how right he was. The vampire had a quip ready, but…

“What colour were they before?” The question surprised him. He stopped, focusing on his own image as the smile died from his lips. How could this stupid dark elf always make him drop his act and reach under his skin.

“I- I don't know. I can't remember. My face is just some dark shape in the past.” Bile and anger rose in him. How could he forget his own appearance? What use was freedom, when he still couldn't have back the most basic part of himself. “Another thing I've lost.” He smashed the hand mirror on the ground: useless trinket.

Leeith jolted back a bit, out of the way of the sharp shards. Her hand twitched upwards, maybe wanting to reassure him, while the vampire just stared at her. She stopped, running her eyes all around his face and body.

“What?” Said Astarion, confused by her sudden inquisitiveness.

“I'll be your mirror. What do you want to know?” She was warm, so unbecoming of a creature of the underdark. 

“And what do you see exactly?” His lips said against his will. How could this stupid dark elf always make him feel welcome and worthy of companionship.

She squinted. “Strong piercing eyes.” Mh, yes, of course: his eyes were always quite spectacular.

“Oh, go on” The vampire smiled, basking in compliments.

“That dangerous smile.” Apparently Leeith was a connoisseur of quality. His heart swelled with pride.

“Very good. Now tell me I'm beautiful and we can call it a day.” The vampire raised his chin and closed his eyes, posing like a great statue.

“Is that all you want? Shallow praise?” She mocked whilst chuckling, making Astarion raise an eyebrow.

“Hardly. There's also gold, sex, revenge. Quite the list, really. But failing any of those, I'll always settle for shallow praise.” She smiled and took a deep breath. 

“You are beautiful, Astarion. The Deva of the higher planes and the Incubi of the hells, may only dream of achieving your perfection. The dawn shining on morningdew cannot compare to your radiant self. My heart can only ache when blessed to witness your glorious figure.” She had her hands on her heart, reciting the verses. There it was, her allure shining through her words, the force of personality to bend people's will to her own whims with a glare and a few honeyed words. Astarion felt… weirdly comforted. Even if she jested, maybe there was truth to it. He hoped.  

“Mirror's aren't much use. But being reflected in someone else's eyes? Well, I could do worse.” 

“If you need more reassurance of your beauty, just ask away. I might have Wyll teach me a few sonnets if that will be of help.” 

He laughed it off and they parted ways soon after. The drow needed to recover and Astarion too would have an early trance, to wake up and admire the dawn on the morrow. 

A certain amount of peace was comfortably sitting in his chest that morning: the day was so bright and warm it almost felt like summer and the forest air was rejuvenating on his naked skin. The grass below his back was soft and still wet with dew, smelling musty and herbal. What he was mostly happy for was the sun shining brightly upon him.  

He still didn't know what he looked like, but it was reassuring that whatever he was, he could count on the beauty of his appearance still. At least, according to what Leeith said the night before. Many in his life had complimented it, but it was most often drunkards who unlucky wanted to bed him. None of their words were true. 

And for as much as he wished otherwise, the drow was one of them. She had to be plotting something. It was just in her nature. Why else would she be so friendly with him specifically? He had been such a fool to think that she maybe saw him as a true friend, that saw his interior world. 

He remembered that day in the blighted village, after killing the ogres, when she showed off her golden tongue. And later, after the wizard left: that morning she talked so much about being a just leader and only trying to protect the grove from the threat of an explosion. Lies, all of them probably. She held everyone - the tieflings and the druids alike - in contempt. She didn't care about their lives, so something else must have been the cause. It was no secret that the drow despised Gale because of an old insult. Could she have killed him? Was that the end of everyone who displeased her? If she was lying about everything that morning, he would have, should have, picked up on something: a word out of a place, a tinge of anxiety in her eyes or an intimidating remark. Instead she laid herself almost bare, relaxed, sorry even.

Threats and deceit were the only thing she knew and she was a master at both. In two hundred years he had done nothing but lie. But Leeith's charisma was a talent that surpassed his own. 

Doubt of her had settled and with every passing day, it grew. When was the drow going to show the cards up her sleeve? What was going to happen to him? Was she just Cazador’s mole? Why did the thought of these days all being a lie hurt him so much? She was just like anyone else, a helpful tool towards his freedom, no matter how much he enjoyed the time spent together. No matter how different it felt to lay with her under the trees. 

He had thought much about that night; it kept coming back to him, both when awake and in his dreams. As time buried the disgust he felt, something more came to light: more than the realisation of his freedom, of the warmth they shared, of her blood spilling in his mouth. Nothing so platonic. 

He had just enjoyed the night. Carnally. Past the act he put up, he just couldn’t resist reliving her moans, his pleasure, her pleasure, the tightness of her body around his member. The feeling of his fingers running across that pale grey skin and the moment she pushed him to the ground, grinning, wanting him. And the end, when he couldn’t help but fall down on her, feeling like he had died for just a little bit of time. He wanted it again. Astarion was almost compelled to ask to share his bed a second time. 

But he couldn't with a backstabbing drow such as her. No matter how sweet and genuine Leeith’s smile was for him - and him alone.  

Gods! Whatever! He was going to keep his friendly act up until it was useful and, if need be, he knew he could always count on his dagger and the shroud of darkness. A golden tongue wouldn't save her from his golden, bloody hands. 

“Astarion!” And there she was, screaming his name from somewhere in the forest. He didn’t respond, annoyed by the fact his sunbathing time was disturbed. His name was called a few more times, along with angry words in Undercommon. 

“Over here, dear.” He sighed at last, without moving an inch. The sound of steps got closer until finally the drow was squatting by his side. 

“Good morning, handsome.” She said in a lusty, deep tone. “Sorry for interrupting your ‘Lizard time’.” 

“Ugh, why would you compare me to such a foul critter?” He winced, still with his eyes closed.

“Because I don’t know other overworld creatures that sunbathe - and the animals in the underdark don’t know what the sun is.” She was so good at faking joy in her voice, it almost sounded like she was genuinely happy to see him. Disgusting. 

“If you’ve come here just to insult me, please, spare your words. I’ve had enough of this.” His tone came out a bit more rude than he had anticipated. Astarion finally sat up. Leeith seemed a bit taken aback by the sudden outburst. Surprise quickly turned into resentment and he could see her eyes narrow.

“I just came here to tell you we’re leaving and if you want to come or not.” She got up. “If you don’t, it’s fine, I’ll just have Wyll along.” The vampire weighed his options for a second.

“For as much as I would love to do nothing but lounge while you risk your life for me and the thought of spending my entire day being glared at by Lae’zel delights me, I think I’ll come along, darling.” He picked up his shirt and shoes from the ground, quickly putting them back on. 

“Are you sure? You seem a bit off. I’d rather not have you freak out at the worst of times.” The drow crossed her arms, clearly studying him. She was still irritated, but also maybe… concerned? Was she scared that her little act had been discovered? 

“Oh, don’t you worry. I'm still as sharp as ever. I just don't like to be disturbed while I work on my tan.” She raised an eyebrow right before shrugging.

“Maybe looking tanned like a common farm hand will bring your ego down to mortal levels.” They both began walking to camp. The vampire noticed how she avoided direct sunlight and winced when a ray hit her eyes.

“That's quite impossible. I would still be a world-endingly beautiful elf. A hidden diamond.” 

“Under the mud and cow dung, sure, you would be a very splendid gem.” 

“Of course I would. You demonstrate that beauty can be born even from the worst of people, dark elf.” Astarion leaned down a bit, placing a hand over her shoulder. He hadn't met many drows in his life, but she did look beautiful. Even her red tinted hair had a certain wild charm. 

“Drow. Not “dark elf”. Don't put me together with you Darthiir.” Fortunately her drow supremacist rant came to rescue him from thinking more about her positive traits. She was the enemy. Astarion had to categorically stop thinking good things about her. 

How unfortunate, then, that on that very day, they would meet an old face. 

As they explored deeper into the swamp, baaing at redcaps who still thought they were polymorphed into sheep - which annoyingly got a chuckle out of the vampire no matter how hard he told himself to stop finding the drow interesting - the party ran into a man. The smell around him was so rancid, leagues above the putrid waters that surrounded them. Astarion recognised his old acquaintance in a heartbeat: a Gur. Of course, no other people could smell so foul but his kind. They infested the city with their presence, and, after what they did to him, his hate was more than justified. The vampire was ready to bar his fangs, but as always, Leeith spoke up first.

“Oh stranger, forgive the aroma. Powdered iron-wine. An old hunter’s trick: most monsters will think twice before making a meal out of me.” The Gur glossed over everyone. He didn’t pay any mind to Astarion, acting friendly. This gave him enough confidence to walk up to him. Rage was bubbling up his chest and it took all of his effort not to point a dagger at the fool's throat already. 

“You’re a monster hunter? I’m surprised: I thought all Gur were vagrant cut-throats.”  The man shook his head, sighing at him, but still at ease.

“What's a Gur? He looks plain like any other surface dweller.” The drow gestured at him. Was she… feigning ignorance now? How could Gurs not fester in the Underdark too?

The hunter responded, diverging Leeith's attention from the elf. 

“We’re a mystical and dangerous people; we travel the land, never settling in one place. We steal your chickens, curse your crops, seduce your daughters. Your friend here has heard it all, I'm sure. I wish we had half the powers settled folks think we possess. Alas I'm a simple wanderer - a simple wanderer and monster hunter. But I'm no witchdoctor or cut-throat.” Monster hunters. Tks, more like thugs and barbarians who shouldn't be allowed to be near civilised societies. 

“If I were a cut-throat I wouldn't admit it either.” Said Leeith. Of course the traitorous bastard wouldn’t admit to it. How many more things was she still hiding? Why were they still talking to the Gur in front of them, he was just a nuisance. Even his voice was enough to make the hair on his nape stand up in disgust. 

“True. And I have no proof to offer but my word. If you wish, our path need not cross again. I'm haunting a vampire spawn and it is a little too bright for you to be my prey. His name's Aatarion and I'm afraid he's gone to ground-” The world fell into silence. If his heart still beat, it would have given up just now. 

Gods of course: there was no other reason for her to still be talking to this Gur. How could he be so blind. So blinded by… what? Companionship? For two hundred years he had uses Cazador’s teachings to make people fall for him. How could he not recognise the same tactics, the flirtiness and fake concern that the drow sported in every word, just enough to make him trust her, the same routine he was forced to learn. 

Were the devil and the half-blood in on it? They probably wouldn’t have turned their backs on the drow for a useless spawn such as himself. He couldn’t win against four people, he would run away at the first opportunity. He wasn’t going to let a fucking drow sell him off. 

He lowered his eyes at her and the insufferable smirk that was surely painting her lips. She was already signing her victory no doubt about it. 

They glanced at each other: what was up with her face? Her lips were thin and a brow raised, while her eyelids shot open with surprise. That wasn’t the expression of a winner. 

“And when you'll find this ‘Astarion’ you'll kill him?” She returned nonchalant in a split second, hand carefully slipping by the handle of her rapier. 

“Not this time. My orders are to capture him” Her stance changed, one foot stepping behind the other, the rest of her body facing the hunter: it was very subtle, merely shifting her weight around, but enough to let the vampire know that she was ready to attack a common enemy. 

“Oh, and bring him where exactly?” Said Astarion, testing the waters. He was still ready to jump backwards and run, maybe throw a vial of acid behind him to slow down his captors. 

“Baldur's gate. My people wait for me there.” Leeith glanced back at the vampire with a tense gaze: they both knew who was waiting in the city. She still hadn’t made a move against him either. Maybe he had been too quick to judge. Surely if she had to apprehend him, she would have attacked already, not keep drawing information from the Gur. And he looked more and more confused, but also still relaxed, unaware of the elf’s identity. 

“Only a spawn? Pity, it's not like he is a real vampire.” Said Leeith, with a mocking tone. Astarion glared at her: how could she joke at a moment like this. Frankly, he should have cut her just for the insult. 

“I don't know. I'm sure a vampire spawn could still rip out your throat if he felt like it.” He limited himself to words, but he was going to complain about it later. Maybe sink his fangs a little deeper next time he fed.

“He is right, unfortunately. They are only weak when compared to their masters. During the day we have the advantage. But at night, when they hunt? You will not find a more deadly quarry.” Gods, this “monster hunter” was still so clueless. He felt insulted that Cazador would choose someone as dense as him. 

The drow and the elf eyed each other: they didn't need words nor the connection of the tadpoles to understand what the other thought.

“Interesting. So, Astarion what do you think?” She smirked, leaving the stage open for him. 

“That's Astarion? No, impossible!” The look on the Gur’s face was priceless. 

“These days I'm making the impossible look easy.” Then the vampire turned to his faithful friend. “May I?” 

The Gur scrambled back, unprepared to deal with him just now.

“After you.” She bowed theatrically, her arm lighting up with magic. 

“Thank you dear.” With an elegant nod, Astarion loaded a bolt in his crossbow. 

The hunter had stepped backwards in the meantime, taking aim right for the vampire. He felt vines grow right from below his feet which snatched him on the spot, making him unable to dodge the subsequent crossbow shot. He hissed in pain, but still raised his arm and shot back. Maybe spending that much time joking with Leeith wasn't the best of choices, but no matter: he had her backing him and even Karlach and Shadowheart were joining in the fight, running at their assailant. 

Leeith remained close to him, summoning eldritch blasts from her fingertips, recoiling back everytime they burst. Her eyebrows were furrowed and focused, noticed the vampire even in the midst of battle. 

The hunter shot again, hell bent on at least killing him even if it cost his life. A mistake, because his aim was pathetic now that the two massive women were in front of him, swinging at him with sword and spells. He was able to dodge a few, but, at every opportunity, a blast or a crossbow bolt would come right at him from far away. Rancid blood and sweat poured out of him and his breathing got heavier. 

Astarion was being defended by everyone. He was not alone. This newfound confidence improved his skills and none of his shots missed their targets. 

And it was him who dealt the final blow, right at the man's knee, shattering it no doubt. The hunter fell down, still conscious, whimpering in pain from all the cuts and burns on his body. 

Leeith helped the elf out of the grappling vines, checking if he was ok with a glance. He waved her away and reached in his pocket for one of her exquisitely brewed potions. 

The drow walked in front of the Gur and knelt by his side, grabbing a fistful of his long hair to stare in his terrorised eyes. He begged between short breaths.

“What is your name?” Her tone was stern.

“Gan-Gandrel. Please. Please- I- mercy. Please please.” His voice got weaker with every word. 

“Now, Grandrel, I would love nothing more than to let you live. My old friends used to say I am the most merciful drow of the underdark.” The vampire looked at her with an inquisitive gaze. Was she not going to kill him? Was she stupid? Death was too good for that man. He thought of sprinting into action, but Leeith pointed a dagger at the Gur's throat not an instant later.

“I would love nothing more than to let you go back to Cazador and make you tell him that a Lolth’s servant is coming after him, ready to fuck his uptight ass with sand and broken glass. Maybe get a gnoll to do it.” A shiver ran down Astarion's spine. Fear yes, but also the pleasure of vengeance. Leeith's words were enticing and full of desire, making love to his vampiric ears. He had no doubt that she was being truthful, too. 

“But unfortunately, you're a liability for us. What if you told the bastard of our position, uh?” The Gur tried to plead more, but she stopped him by placing the dagger on his lips. “Let me finish, Gandrel. Not only you're a liability to us, but also to yourself. Cazador - the guy who employed you - is a true vampire. If the stories a true, he is quite apt at torture and suffering. What do you think would happen to you if you came back without Astarion, uh? As I said, I am the most merciful drow.” She turned around to stare at Astarion, extending her dagger by the handle. “Care to finish him off, darling?” 

Astarion smiled, kneeling in front of her. Their red eyes met, becoming one. How could he have ever doubted her? There was no one in the world more alike to him than that drow. No one who better understood him nor was ever as willing to murder for him. She was above and beyond his rosiest expectations. 

Crimson sprayed over both their faces and they smiled at each other.

Maybe praying even to Lolth all those many years ago had not been a mistake, if this was the custodian angel she sent. 

“You really are a sick fuck for slitting a man's throat like that.” Said Karlach, interrupting their moment. 

“You had as strong a hand in killing him than any of us did. You just didn’t land the killing blow.” Leeith was patting his corpse, pocketing anything she found useful. Not that there was much except for a heavy crossbow he couldn’t use.

“But he was pleading for his life. We could have spared him or just- not tell him that he was Astarion. We could have turned back and forgotten about this.” The tiefling was trying to be reasonable, but the drow shrugged and rolled her eyes.

“The man wanted to kidnap our friend. I value Astarion’s life much higher than that of a cut-throat. What would have happened once he was healed back? Or what if a much worse monster came to us? This guy was ready to sign a deal with a hag to find him, that would have fared badly for all of us. I look after my people. I almost risked my life to get rid of your own kidnappers, remember?” She stood up, and the two argued for a little more, until the cleric stopped them, fed up with both. They both stood on their convictions, so it was better to cut it here before spirits turned sour. 

They still had parts of the swamp to explore. Karlach went in front to avoid Leeith and was followed by Shadowheart. The vampire and the drow remained a few metres back, gossiping. 

“So, there’s a monster hunter after you?” Said Leeith. He knew the conversation was coming.

“Not anymore, which is all that matters really.” He tried deflecting, but she wasn’t having it. 

“What if there are others? He might not have been alone.” 

“We'll deal with them, like we did with this one.” A certain worry was weighing down his heart, ripping the smile off of his lips. 

“Are you sure Cazador is behind this?” A useless question and she knew it, judging by how heavy her voice was, so that no one could hear them. 

“It was him. I'm sure. Only he would know to send a Gur after me.” He struggled to contain the volume down. “It was a group of Gur that attacked me that night in Baldur's Gate. I would have died had Cazador not appeared and saved me.” 

“What a good heart he had: saved you by making you a slave.” She scoffed

“Well, he didn't mention the slave clause at the time. And now he sends a Gur monster hunter to look for me. It's a message.” He slowed his pace down to a halt, absorbing in the view. “He's reminding me of his power. Even in the middle of nowhere he can reach me and he wants me back.” 

“But why would he? Why not just kill you?” She stopped beside him, signalling to Karlach and Shadowheart to push farther on their own. Astarion appreciated it, not having his secrets made public domain. This still couldn't hide the sadness in his voice.

“Maybe he wants to make an example out of me. To show what happens to runaways. Or maybe he thinks death would have been too good for me.” 

“I would love to say you're safe here, but… He won't let go easy, will he? How concerned should I be?” She held her chin with one hand, in thought. Was she dumb enough to think she could pick a fight with a vampire now? Or did she not know anything about them.

“Concerned? Do you know the powers a vampire lord possesses?” His temper rose up, remembering all the terrible things he had witnessed his master do. “He can change shape, turn into mist, call wolves to do his bidding, shrug off blows like they're nothing. He could walk into our camp tonight and kill you with his bare hands. And you'll be lucky if death is the worst thing that happens to you.” He pointed a finger in her face, which she stared at and moved away gently.

“All right. You know him best. What do you suggest?” 

“First we have to… uh.” Started the vampire, trying to come up with something. The more plans he had, the more he had to turn down in his head. Most of those plans didn't go further than storm the palace in the morning and kill him. ”I don't know! If we keep killing his lackeys he'll just send more. We just have to be vigilant; keep our wits about us. And kill any monster hunter on sight.” The drow raised her brow and couldn't hide a smirk. 

Astarion felt insulted. Who did she believe herself to be? He was the one that had to suffer. He had made a grave mistake forgiving her. And why were her hands reaching for his throat now? She couldn't strangle him since he didn't breath- she put her hands on his shoulders at the base of the neck. He tried to pull away from the unwanted touch, but she squeezed him lightly, reassuringly. A bit of her body heat spread down even with the thick gambeson he was wearing. It took all of his composure and will power not to lean in her gentle touch.

“Hey.” She looked serious, but calming. “I know it seems hard right now, ok? And I know vampires are strong. I probably couldn't kill one right now. But don't let your fear make you wander far. There's miles between here and the city and he can't travel easily overground. He won't come. And by the time we reach Baldur's Gate, we will have grown stronger. And I promise you, he will suffer. You can carve a poem into his back too, do even more revisions, uh? Besides, he can't control you with the tadpole still inside your mind and you are a proficient rogue, you'll escape again.” He shook his head and straightened his back. 

“Oh you are a sweetheart, but I'm not going to delude myself.” He wriggled free of her hold, not without a part of him suddenly missing the comforting warmth. She lowered her arms and shrugged, then turned to walk away. 

“I know fear. I have dealt with mine and freed myself of it. You will too, I'm sure of that Astarion. Until then, follow your advice, keep your wits and a clear head.”

#baldurs gate astarion #astarion #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate fanfiction #astarion romance #character illustration #baldurs gate fanart #baldur's gate oc #astarion x mc #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion fanart #digital art #character art #sketch

[spaceshipkat]

Hey Kat! So i'm reading CCity right now and there's a really weird passage about wraiths and aging being seen as a punishment, or at least something terrible:

"Vainer wraiths switched [bodies] often, usually at the first sign of aging", and "It had been Micah’s punishment for her rebellion: to trap her within this body [...] For two hundred years, Vik had been contained, forced to weather the slow erosion of the body, now plainly visible: the thin lines starting to carve themselves around her eyes, the crease now etched in her forehead above the tattoo’s twining band of thorns."

First my reaction was to shrug it off as a lore thing for the race of wraiths, despite SJM's usual tendency to equate beauty and youth to righteousness as seen in TOG and Acotar, but then I thought about it more and... It's kinda sad.

Through the narration in this passage, she equates wanting to look young to being vain and judges others for it, but isn't it what she's doing herself? Her heroines are all young and pretty women, while the antagonists and old and ugly (or at least deceptively so) women. I found it particularly apparent in Throne of Glass with the majority of cast being women, and the opponent/foes being older like Amarantha and Darrow. There's no one older who is good right from the start.

It's a bit worrying that, even within what can be described as wraith culture in CCity, SJM looks so scared of aging and growing old. It is by all means a natural process, but in so much instances she makes it appear as something terrible in her lit, even though she's also aging (being 36 years old now in 2022). But it's so... sad. She's not going to stay an Aelin-wannabe elf girlie forever, and she will be 40 in 4 years— which is by no means old, but it's not 20 you know? I don't know if she's so sucked up by her own works and the general YA tendency to have 16-20 years old heroines, but I hope she can make peace with that even though our culture isn't going to do so anytime soon.

(by the way i'm not counting the rowans and other people who are 2000 years old since they all look like instagram models but that should be obvious)

remember in hoeab where Bryce and Danika talk about wanting to make the Drop at age...ah fuck, lemme go look in my copy, standby.

Twenty-seven was the ideal age to make the Drop, they’d decided together, after years of mercilessly judging the various immortals who marked their lives by centuries and millennia. Right before any permanent lines or wrinkles or gray hairs. They merely said to anyone who inquired, What’s the point of being immortal badasses if we have sagging tits? Vain assholes, Fury had hissed when they’d explained it the first time.

this just kinda proves yet again that sjm is at least partially aware of what she writes and yet writes it anyway. i'm 28, and i can safely say my boobs haven't sagged, i don't have "permanent lines or wrinkles or grey hairs" yet, but even if i did it's not a bad thing? i got pissed off when my little sister, who is 23, was invited by her coworker (who is in her late 20s or early 30s, i believe) to go get botox bc my little sister is twenty fucking three and there is no reason for her to get botox yet. or ever. i get SO pissed when people talk about aging like it's a bad thing. my knees aren't great anymore, through a mixture of chronic pain and perhaps being almost 30, but that's just part of being alive!

if there's one thing sjm should learn from haunting antis' blogs, it should be that aging isn't a bad thing and to treat it as some villainous step on the path of life is just feeding into a beauty standard that exists to hurt everyone, no matter what they look like.

sometimes, though, it's very clear that sjm writes the characters she does to live out some kind of fantasy she's never been able to experience. and like, fine! so many authors do that! but don't try to stuff her misguided beliefs about aging (amongst other things) down everyone's throats. keep your misguided beliefs to yourself ffs (her books blah blah but as soon as they hit the shelves her intention no longer matters and the words have to speak for themselves. the message they're sending is very much Aging Is Bad)

#ask #anonymous #anti sjm #anti hoeab

[circle-girls-tower]

💯 one for each!

While the main application of her magic is heaving large amounts of stone and shaping it, she can control gemstones as well.

This has lead to her playing with coagulated rubies and sapphires and such like putty on the jobsite when she's nervous.

She likes Siobahn's blood some of the most out of all the Sisters, but the nature of Siobahn's office being sunshine 24/7 makes getting it an issue.

Does not like crowds, or noisy places like bars or clubs.

The winter gear is just a fashion choice, she can be just fine entirely naked in sub-freezing temperatures.

She was actually kinda skinny until she joined the Sisterhood, at which point the abundance of food and her lack of control around it caused her to balloon.

Her brain comprehends abstract and stylized designs poorly. The pictures of fruits on Siobahn's wine bottles still register as blobs of color and indistinct lines first.

Always knows which way is north.

Is one of the wealthiest sisters. It's all tied up in a system that you need a great deal of mundane financial knowledge and contract magic to even try to touch.

Siobahn calls her Maggie.

Siobahn is allowed to do that because she gives her wine.

Do not call her Maggie.

Her system has no means of processing capsaicin, so spicy food doesn't exist to her.

While she is human and Sisters do have a slightly expanded lifespan, she's got another century in her, bare minimum, as another effect of basking in growth magic constantly.

While she is aware of this, she underestimates how much she has left, pegging herself at 50 to 70 years left.

She has twin brothers!

She's an elf that is absolutely beyond rare for them

But in her designs, she often includes water erosion in her plans, so any stone fountain or decoration won't be "finished" for about 60 years once it starts running.

She can increase her muscle mass, lard mass, and other parts of her body to enhance their function, but she cannot, under any circumstance, alter her skeletal structure. Returns an error, effectively, when she tries to do so.

[tillsedwin]

Interesting thought on naiads and rivers spirits

Considering the majority of caves are made through water flow erosion and a decent portion of these are made by rivers or at least contain rivers that means in many fantasy series at least those containing the classic creatures like elves dwarves and humans and more ethereal creatures like rivers spirits there will be something quite interesting to ponder.

these spirits of rivers are usually depicted as long lived, well tempered, peaceful and relatively distinct from the personality of dwarves and closer to elves or fey.

However considering that many rivers will flow into a cave and help form one it is likely river spirits will be familiar with caves and their depths, furthermore presuming they may interact with the residents by their river, and likely pick up traits or features.

This means even if their river may not be wholly subterranean many river spirits may pick up traits of dwarves perhaps even adopting an appearance of one considering the great jewels and gifts they may offer them especially since water access is important in smithing.

So in conclusion though river spirits are typically considered ethereal creatures similar to elf’s or deities it is more likely that round dwarven areas many may pick up the personality traits of a dwarf or similar subterranean creature.

So next time you wonder to the lady of the river don’t be shocked when a Scottish accent pops out.

#classical mythology #fantasy #classic fantasy #river spirit #dwarves

[everglowingremedy]

This is my dnd oc character blog!

Alistair: undead aasimir raised cleric but turned necromancer. Edgelord character. Family of religious fanatics and the chosen one of their God, who was anti undead. Currently working for an evil lich. He went from one bad extreme to another.

Avani: earth genasi, gender fluid but earth plane gender is seasons. In a fake relationship with a shape shifter. Worships the goddess of storms and erosion, family shunned for this bc its like worshiping death for earth genasi. His fathers were nobility, but after being shunned they moved to the middle of nowhere on the material plane.

Damien: half frost giant water cleric to a pacifist goddess, the rest of the party were murder hobos. Left at the water temple as a baby, under the care of master oolong. Personification of 🥺👉👈.

Dewey: minotaur cowboy fighter himbo. In love with his buff gf the town blacksmith April. Part of the army bc he doesn't know any better. Loves gorp and making animal friends (has a talking with animals enchanted earring!). Writes bad poetry.

Keme: aaracokra bard pretending to be a pirate. He was stolen and raised by a king and then framed for stealing from the king by his lover, a shapeshifter. I miss him I'm obsessed with him.

Patrick: sad appalachian dad. Human chef bard. One of those guys who goes into the woods and cooks a whole meal. Divorced dad of two whose wife was maybe a serial killer/ vampire? Undecided, I haven't played him yet.

Robin: my first character! Elf druid, pet scorpion, loved the spell bonfire.

Vasen: half orc phoenix fire sorceress, part of a rebellion, past lives bc in her original life her and a phoenix fell in love and now the phoenix lives inside her soul but vasen doesn't remember her or her past lives. Has a pet mouse and lives on the street.

Posts to build characterization are under info

Posts that have ideas I want to implement into a character but I haven't chosen which yet are under ideas

#alistair #avani #damien #dewey #keme #patrick #robin #vasen #info #ideas

[veil-over-miitopia]

Temporary NPC List Until I Fucking Work on Proper Character Pages

This will be divided into 4 parts; Greenhorne, The Royal Families, Thulmisa/Neksdor, and Realm of the Fey/Yokai Mountain. Due to the sheer fucking size of this thing (I will be adding mii pictures AND Picrew mockups soon-ish), I will be placing the meat and potatoes under “Read More”.

Character backstories will have to wait, but rest assured I have them in my mind and will answer any and all questions about them while I gather the energy needed to finally make proper cast pages for each category mentioned.

Without any further rambling, the list is as follows;

-

🥀 The Crumbs of a Nation 🥀

Retreat Guide (Town Guide): Gianni

Optimistic Gardener (Cheery Granny): Calliope

Finicky Child (Cheeky Child): Rafail

Protective Mother (Worried Mother): Timothea

Forlorn Widower (Lovey-Dovey Man): Matheo

Missing Rose (Lovey-Dovey Woman): Ariadne

Resigned Bloke (Sarky Bloke): Platon

Anxious “Mayor” (Dubious Mayor): Basil

Enduring General (Serious Soldier): Amaryllis

Gossipy Intel (Lax Soldier): Ermis

Shadowy ???: ???

Sharp-Shooting ???: ??? (I forget the names and my Switch is currently charging)

-

♟️ Crumbling Pillars ♟️

The Missing King: Serapheim

Rose Gold Knight // Captain of the Royal Guard (Princess): Halinka

Steadfast Marksman // Besmirched Flowerboy (Nobleboy): Leander

Headstrong Biologist // The Cold Prince (Prince from a Nearby Land): Dakarai

Late Matriarch (Prince’s mumsy): Echidna

-

🌙 The Sands of Erosion 🌙

Ethereal Jester (Dancing Guide): Chione

Everyone’s Grandfather (Rambling Old Man):

Snake-Oil Dealer (Shady Merchant Father): Yasir

Deceiving Cherub (Shady Merchant Daughter): Amirah

Starry-Eyed Scholar (Worried Explorer): Iset

Cheeky Noble (Desert Celebrity): Dunya

Nostalgic Child (”Genie”): Nour

-

🍂 The Forest of Silence 🍂

Wounded Passerby // Kasa-Obake (Injured Elf): Haruhi

Maddened Hermit // Oni (Scaredy-Cat): Hifumi

Calm Monk // Samebito (EFF Fan): Sou

Loyal Monk // Hainu (MFF Fan): Akito

Energetic Monk // Sunekosuri (YFF Fan): Taro

Deranged Wanderer //  Kuchisake-Onna (Green-Eyed Lady): Hitomi

Retired Elder // Tanuki (Lazybones): Katsumi

Crafty Illusionist // Kitsune (Trickster Witch): Sachie

#// and a few key notes; #1: I have ditched that dum dum love triangle thingy #besides- Halinka and Dakarai are homos so it won't work HDJDJFHNFJ #2: Yeah I've spared Dunya- #she's a lot more relevant to the plot this time; being Dakarai's cousin and all #Miitopia #Miitopia Penumbra AU #WIP; #Cast;

[alightinthedarkness1]

Chapter Fifteen

Tucking himself away from the prying eyes of those around and about him, Black watched with pupiless yellow eyes for his target, even if the word was not to be associated in such a sense for the drow elf he was looking for, which he had been trying to differentiate throughout the crows, although dwindling, of the Lowstreets of the Houseless and, “Other Races,” as the high born called it. And never did the tiefling think that he, the son of the Gray Sword Syndicate’s late leader of five years, and the pure blood of the line, would ever meet with a high born, let alone his killer. But it was a last wish of his, and therefore he had to respect such a thing.

He was meeting someone that had made her name known in the streets as the, “Dark Veil,” due to the dark shroud of fabric she had worn over her face in her youth, and for a decent time until Black’s father’s death for a stronger political appearance. The shock of her next public appearance had been quite monumental for those who wished House Coborial harm, which was practically all of Abburth, as many saw the eldest daughter of the first Matron as frighteningly beautiful, but for those in the Syndicate, it was when their voyeurism had began, which was a kind term for what some would refer to as stalking.

That was beside the point, however, as over the course of those five years, Black had learned much about the family that his father had so revered, more specifically that children he held close to his heart, and he quickly began to realize the depth of family conspiracies within such a major House. For he had read reports in regards to the youngest daughter poisoning other women in the House itself, or even her slaves, for sport, to showcase her frightening presence, although that wasn’t the worst of what he had found in the file.

One revealed a tactical meeting between Matron Aunerae and her current mate, General K’yornl Akatha conversing over what Houses posed the most current threat as according to the hundreds of spies that she had sent, as well as the progression in the subtle erosion of the long since destroyed House Caddath. Black’s informants had watched as she belittled her mate, who, in thesis, was meant to be her equal, although every sensible person of the Underdark would understand that equality was a myth amongst those in the society. It was a word used as a lure to the dangerously unaware, to draw them into the clutches of those above them, before being crushed in their palms, learning their lesson far too late. It had been something the Syndicate had tried to abolish in the lowstreets, to no avail, for it was ingrained into the back of every creature’s mind in the Underdark, even those unaffiliated with drow cities, such as Mindflayers and a large population of svirfneblin living in caves within the cavernous depths of the ground below the light.

Black had been lucky to see such luminescence, as, unlike the drow, he lacked the immense sensitivity to the ball of flame known to those upon the surface as the sun, this being due to his demonic heritage, which was inevitably caused by his father’s dealings with the demon he had come to know as Mogthock. Allegedly, he had decided to take in effect his plans in regards to the creation of a tiefling due to the prolonged creation of another due to a cross breeding between dragon blood, demonic pact, and human blood, which was his own benefactor from the dealing with his father. Black was twenty nine now, which meant that there was no doubt that the demon would collect him in due time. That was one thing he could expect after his father’s death, as there was no in between any longer, and Mogthock could have his way without his warlock to stop him, and he was most likely just waiting for the right moment to pounce.

However, another effect of the recent death and transformation of the old master of the Syndicate, was the disarray in the lower politics it had. Kethan had been the center of all conspiracies in the lower Houses of Abburth, as well as the Other Races and the Houseless, not only marking him as a reliable source, but also as one of the most powerful forces known in the city. Therefore, his son had to pick up the pieces of his formation, which he had managed to do with his more revered allies, and was slowly rebuilding what he had not meant to be his so soon. In fact, with his human lifespan, he expected for his father to outlive him and continue on. Present events proved otherwise.

Black remained vigilant, his yellow voids for eyes continuing to scan for a lost feminine silhouette, for he had given no clues to where the Nook was, and for a simple reason as well; to prove the Queen of Monster’s integrity. He had heard tell of her wit, and a part of him wished to witness it in envy and in curiosity alike, but also to truly deduce whether or not it was truly her intellect, or mere luck that guided her way. Part of him couldn’t understand that she had managed to take his father down only five years ago.

And that was when he spotted her. Coming right at him.

Through the bustle of people rushing to get home in fear of a night raid, xanthous eyes met with purple ones, swimming with prudence, brawn, and, mixed almost rebelliously so, despair. Her hair was tucked back behind the hooded cloak she wore, surprisingly not her house piwafwi, but it was lofty enough to conceal most of her features, even her almost notable figure amongst the low folk. Moreover, she wore loose black clothing, undoubtedly stolen from soldier’s rooms, as drow women were subjected to form fitting clothing from a young age. Even more surprising was that the heiress had matched the style of the lowborn almost perfectly, encapsulating their informal dress contrary to her own.

The tiefling made a subtle gesture with his ebony skin and unbelievably sharp nails in the code the drow used for battle, looking at the purple eyed woman as he did so, a smile on his face like no other. He had been faced with Arachne Coborial, his father’s killer, and his greatest ally.

She made her way to the Nook, stealthily moving her way through the crowd, almost as if she were one of them herself, further piquing Black’s interest as he himself made his way to his safe place, and when they had made it, Arachne still remained several paces away from him, a distrustful glint in her eye as she did so, a concealed weapon most likely hidden by her cloak sleeve.

It was then that he decided to speak, still faced away from her. “Are you the Queen of Monsters by chance? For you have been expected for some time.” His voice echoed throughout the Nook’s desolate walls, stone in structure, imitating the overall shape of a crevice in a cave system, shadows casting over the hideout in just the right places, hiding informants, spies, and the like in its depths.

The woman returned in a calm voice, almost musical in nature, civilized and proper. “Do not ask what you already know, Black Powder. I am here for my information and nothing more. Pleasantries are not needed, for I am sure you know plenty of me over the past five years of hounding me.” A chuckle resounded throughout the cavern, “Perhaps it is I who should be asking the questions, since all of yours are surely sated.”

Black turned around, his spade shaped tail turning about with him, wrapped gently around his leg in a leisurely manner as he leant up against a supporting pillar of the makeshift cave and home, a mix of wood and stone. “Perhaps. But you forget who holds the power in this domain, my lady.” He mocked. “But as the dying wish of both the Surface Tiger and of Bug, I will give you answers to what you may wish to know– or rather, what we wish to give you.” With a long pointed finger, the tiefling gestured towards a chair, to which he sat at one across from it. “Sit. Let us be equals for now, and then we shall go our separate ways, no strings attached.”

Arachne nodded, looking at the chair for a curious moment of silence, almost as if she was examining the thing before taking her seat, lowering her hood as he did, not only revealing his ram-like horns, but also his heritage in due course, his compatriot having less to hide. All she had that was of some surprise to him was a knowing smile on her face as she grasped onto something at her side, but not on the side that one of her dominant hand would place their sword, which begged a certain question. As long as it didn’t concern his or his men’s safety, Black could remain content.

“My directness is necessary, Black Powder, for I have much to do in this night alone, so whatever it is you need to tell me, or as you say to ‘give’ me, hasten your process if you will.” Arachne stated, her eyes almost piercing holes into his skull, hardened by the harsh streets of which he had been brought up on, the vibrance of their color, in both infrared and not, disturbing him, akin to centipedes crawling up his back as she looked at him.

Despite his discomfort, Black continued, looking back at one of his men, a bugbear, motioning him to come forward with the gift assign by his father to return, which was wrapped in Bug’s old Houseless cloak, a dull red, which they had taken from her body as a last thing to remember her by, as she would be set to be burned not even minutes after Matron Aunerae’s pet had slain her. Nodding his head in thanks to his tall and brown furred friend, he placed the package on the table.

Black cleared his throat, aiding to the atmosphere he had so persistently attempted to keep in further endeavor to scare the supposed fearless drow elf, “You sister made this for you a week before her death, stating to the Surface Tiger that she would make this for the sister she would never meet, almost as if she had accepted death, and the way it has been retold to me, I can only be certain of that fact.” He began to fidget with the hem of the end of part of the fabric absentmindedly, almost impatient with himself for the atmosphere he created, and instead decided to slide it to the drow elf before him, “It is something for you. Open it if you wish to.”

And she did, delicately opening the bundle of the cloak itself, revealing the bone structure of the stave first, just before the hand padding made of fine dragon belly scale. Moving further upwards revealed the center of the staff where moon and sun shapes were carved into the bone, dusky hands tracing over the patterns before continuing to the top where several different branches of bone intertwined together to hold a blue gem in the center, eerily dull until Arachne placed her hand on the staff itself.

“This is made of dracolitch bone and scale remains, is it not?” The elf inquired, feeling the staff up in awe, her hands never leaving the markings engraved into the rough material.

Black nodded, “Yes. She also said that you can make it small to hide.”

The woman almost jumped in excitement as a figurative candle lit in her head, a small snapping sound coming from her left hand, while her right delicately pressed against a prominent moon pattern, the staff shrinking to the size of her palm, a chain suddenly appearing around it, making itself in the form of a necklace, and an ornately beautiful one at that.

Arachne stood, clasping the chain around her neck before raising her hood. “Thank you, Black Powder. Gods be with you.”

And just like that, his father’s killer had gone.

#writeblr #write #writing fiction #writers on tumblr #creativewriters #dnd character #original story #original fiction #original character #aspiring novelist #chapter thirteen #drow #drow elf #dnd drow #dungeons and dragons drow #fiction #writersociety #elf #dnd elf #corellon #elf aesthetic #elves #dark elf #writer things #writerscorner #d&d #dnd #i hope you have a great day #i hope you like this

[aspiringfictionwriter]

A Light in the Darkness: Chapter Fifteen

Trigger warnings: life of the slums, underground organization, last will, (please notify if these need to be changed)

Tucking himself away from the prying eyes of those around and about him, Black watched with pupiless yellow eyes for his target, even if the word was not to be associated in such a sense for the drow elf he was looking for, which he had been trying to differentiate throughout the crows, although dwindling, of the Lowstreets of the Houseless and, “Other Races,” as the high born called it. And never did the tiefling think that he, the son of the Gray Sword Syndicate’s late leader of five years, and the pure blood of the line, would ever meet with a high born, let alone his killer. But it was a last wish of his, and therefore he had to respect such a thing.

He was meeting someone that had made her name known in the streets as the, “Dark Veil,” due to the dark shroud of fabric she had worn over her face in her youth, and for a decent time until Black’s father’s death for a stronger political appearance. The shock of her next public appearance had been quite monumental for those who wished House Coborial harm, which was practically all of Abburth, as many saw the eldest daughter of the first Matron as frighteningly beautiful, but for those in the Syndicate, it was when their voyeurism had began, which was a kind term for what some would refer to as stalking.

That was beside the point, however, as over the course of those five years, Black had learned much about the family that his father had so revered, more specifically that children he held close to his heart, and he quickly began to realize the depth of family conspiracies within such a major House. For he had read reports in regards to the youngest daughter poisoning other women in the House itself, or even her slaves, for sport, to showcase her frightening presence, although that wasn’t the worst of what he had found in the file.

One revealed a tactical meeting between Matron Aunerae and her current mate, General K’yornl Akatha conversing over what Houses posed the most current threat as according to the hundreds of spies that she had sent, as well as the progression in the subtle erosion of the long since destroyed House Caddath. Black’s informants had watched as she belittled her mate, who, in thesis, was meant to be her equal, although every sensible person of the Underdark would understand that equality was a myth amongst those in the society. It was a word used as a lure to the dangerously unaware, to draw them into the clutches of those above them, before being crushed in their palms, learning their lesson far too late. It had been something the Syndicate had tried to abolish in the lowstreets, to no avail, for it was ingrained into the back of every creature’s mind in the Underdark, even those unaffiliated with drow cities, such as Mindflayers and a large population of svirfneblin living in caves within the cavernous depths of the ground below the light.

Black had been lucky to see such luminescence, as, unlike the drow, he lacked the immense sensitivity to the ball of flame known to those upon the surface as the sun, this being due to his demonic heritage, which was inevitably caused by his father’s dealings with the demon he had come to know as Mogthock. Allegedly, he had decided to take in effect his plans in regards to the creation of a tiefling due to the prolonged creation of another due to a cross breeding between dragon blood, demonic pact, and human blood, which was his own benefactor from the dealing with his father. Black was twenty nine now, which meant that there was no doubt that the demon would collect him in due time. That was one thing he could expect after his father’s death, as there was no in between any longer, and Mogthock could have his way without his warlock to stop him, and he was most likely just waiting for the right moment to pounce.

However, another effect of the recent death and transformation of the old master of the Syndicate, was the disarray in the lower politics it had. Kethan had been the center of all conspiracies in the lower Houses of Abburth, as well as the Other Races and the Houseless, not only marking him as a reliable source, but also as one of the most powerful forces known in the city. Therefore, his son had to pick up the pieces of his formation, which he had managed to do with his more revered allies, and was slowly rebuilding what he had not meant to be his so soon. In fact, with his human lifespan, he expected for his father to outlive him and continue on. Present events proved otherwise.

Black remained vigilant, his yellow voids for eyes continuing to scan for a lost feminine silhouette, for he had given no clues to where the Nook was, and for a simple reason as well; to prove the Queen of Monster’s integrity. He had heard tell of her wit, and a part of him wished to witness it in envy and in curiosity alike, but also to truly deduce whether or not it was truly her intellect, or mere luck that guided her way. Part of him couldn’t understand that she had managed to take his father down only five years ago.

And that was when he spotted her. Coming right at him.

Through the bustle of people rushing to get home in fear of a night raid, xanthous eyes met with purple ones, swimming with prudence, brawn, and, mixed almost rebelliously so, despair. Her hair was tucked back behind the hooded cloak she wore, surprisingly not her house piwafwi, but it was lofty enough to conceal most of her features, even her almost notable figure amongst the low folk. Moreover, she wore loose black clothing, undoubtedly stolen from soldier’s rooms, as drow women were subjected to form fitting clothing from a young age. Even more surprising was that the heiress had matched the style of the lowborn almost perfectly, encapsulating their informal dress contrary to her own.

The tiefling made a subtle gesture with his ebony skin and unbelievably sharp nails in the code the drow used for battle, looking at the purple eyed woman as he did so, a smile on his face like no other. He had been faced with Arachne Coborial, his father’s killer, and his greatest ally.

She made her way to the Nook, stealthily moving her way through the crowd, almost as if she were one of them herself, further piquing Black’s interest as he himself made his way to his safe place, and when they had made it, Arachne still remained several paces away from him, a distrustful glint in her eye as she did so, a concealed weapon most likely hidden by her cloak sleeve.

It was then that he decided to speak, still faced away from her. “Are you the Queen of Monsters by chance? For you have been expected for some time.” His voice echoed throughout the Nook’s desolate walls, stone in structure, imitating the overall shape of a crevice in a cave system, shadows casting over the hideout in just the right places, hiding informants, spies, and the like in its depths.

The woman returned in a calm voice, almost musical in nature, civilized and proper. “Do not ask what you already know, Black Powder. I am here for my information and nothing more. Pleasantries are not needed, for I am sure you know plenty of me over the past five years of hounding me.” A chuckle resounded throughout the cavern, “Perhaps it is I who should be asking the questions, since all of yours are surely sated.”

Black turned around, his spade shaped tail turning about with him, wrapped gently around his leg in a leisurely manner as he leant up against a supporting pillar of the makeshift cave and home, a mix of wood and stone. “Perhaps. But you forget who holds the power in this domain, my lady.” He mocked. “But as the dying wish of both the Surface Tiger and of Bug, I will give you answers to what you may wish to know– or rather, what we wish to give you.” With a long pointed finger, the tiefling gestured towards a chair, to which he sat at one across from it. “Sit. Let us be equals for now, and then we shall go our separate ways, no strings attached.”

Arachne nodded, looking at the chair for a curious moment of silence, almost as if she was examining the thing before taking her seat, lowering her hood as he did, not only revealing his ram-like horns, but also his heritage in due course, his compatriot having less to hide. All she had that was of some surprise to him was a knowing smile on her face as she grasped onto something at her side, but not on the side that one of her dominant hand would place their sword, which begged a certain question. As long as it didn’t concern his or his men’s safety, Black could remain content.

“My directness is necessary, Black Powder, for I have much to do in this night alone, so whatever it is you need to tell me, or as you say to ‘give’ me, hasten your process if you will.” Arachne stated, her eyes almost piercing holes into his skull, hardened by the harsh streets of which he had been brought up on, the vibrance of their color, in both infrared and not, disturbing him, akin to centipedes crawling up his back as she looked at him.

Despite his discomfort, Black continued, looking back at one of his men, a bugbear, motioning him to come forward with the gift assign by his father to return, which was wrapped in Bug’s old Houseless cloak, a dull red, which they had taken from her body as a last thing to remember her by, as she would be set to be burned not even minutes after Matron Aunerae’s pet had slain her. Nodding his head in thanks to his tall and brown furred friend, he placed the package on the table.

Black cleared his throat, aiding to the atmosphere he had so persistently attempted to keep in further endeavor to scare the supposed fearless drow elf, “You sister made this for you a week before her death, stating to the Surface Tiger that she would make this for the sister she would never meet, almost as if she had accepted death, and the way it has been retold to me, I can only be certain of that fact.” He began to fidget with the hem of the end of part of the fabric absentmindedly, almost impatient with himself for the atmosphere he created, and instead decided to slide it to the drow elf before him, “It is something for you. Open it if you wish to.”

And she did, delicately opening the bundle of the cloak itself, revealing the bone structure of the stave first, just before the hand padding made of fine dragon belly scale. Moving further upwards revealed the center of the staff where moon and sun shapes were carved into the bone, dusky hands tracing over the patterns before continuing to the top where several different branches of bone intertwined together to hold a blue gem in the center, eerily dull until Arachne placed her hand on the staff itself.

“This is made of dracolitch bone and scale remains, is it not?” The elf inquired, feeling the staff up in awe, her hands never leaving the markings engraved into the rough material.

Black nodded, “Yes. She also said that you can make it small to hide.”

The woman almost jumped in excitement as a figurative candle lit in her head, a small snapping sound coming from her left hand, while her right delicately pressed against a prominent moon pattern, the staff shrinking to the size of her palm, a chain suddenly appearing around it, making itself in the form of a necklace, and an ornately beautiful one at that.

Arachne stood, clasping the chain around her neck before raising her hood. “Thank you, Black Powder. Gods be with you.”

And just like that, his father’s killer had gone.

___________________________

I almost feel like my own annoyance with this chapter was encapsulated through Black's thoughts…

Also, I will be taking a week off of writing because of spring break! Enjoy your own break if you’re still in school and it applies to you!

#writeblr #write #writing fiction #writers on tumblr #creativewriters #dnd character #original story #original fiction #original character #aspiring novelist #chapter thirteen #drow #drow elf #dnd drow #dungeons and dragons drow #fiction #writersociety #elf #dnd elf #corellon #elf aesthetic #elves #dark elf #writer things #writerscorner #d&d #dnd #i hope you have a great day #i hope you like this

[outofangband]

Morgoth with his guests of honor, part two

Plus a bonus character I haven’t yet written before

Part one here (connected only by theme, definitely don’t have to read)

General Angband content warning for captivity and restraint, mentions of injuries, Melkor being creepy

masterlist 

Maitimo Nelyafinwë

The Vala is several heads taller than he is with almost sickly pale skin that grayed around the edges of the long, dark robes, creating the effect (if it was merely an effect) that they were part of the same material. Maitimo realizes that he had not seen the Moringotto since he still inhabited his previous form as part of the charade of Melkor. Yes, he had seen a glimpse of Him on that dreadful day when He had passed them near Formenos but he had been in no state to process what he saw and the significant distance and the obscuring clouds prevented a clear image.

The Silmarils had marred Him, diminished Him. This was not a comfort to Maitimo. Moringotto diminished was still a creature of immense power and now it felt trapped, contained in this lesser form so that the elf was constantly aware of a foreboding, a tension surrounding them, ready to crack open and swallow him.

Later, Maitimo would come to believe that such imagery, of shadows and crackling and holes opening up to consume and a million more, were indeed part of the experience of the Moringotto’s presence. Even diminished, the Dark Lord was larger than life. With His voice came thunder and the erosion of ancient m structures. With His touch came worse.

Húrin Thalion

The dream fades into the cracked ceiling and bleak walls. Húrin is lying sprawled on the ground, the cold of the chain around his ankle has not faded since it was first fastened onto him. It was not this that woke him however. His dirty hair is strewn across his face, somewhat obscuring his vision but he needs not his eyes to know who stands over him

“Get up,” the Vala sneers and Húrin feels the tremblings of a bitter laugh echo in his throat.

“I hardly see what difference it might make, refusing you from the ground or doing so crouched against the wall, Morgoth,” Húrin says quietly as he attempts to rise, wincing in pain. The casual way the man speaks this name always infuriates him and he lands a sharp kick to Húrin’s chest so he is knocked backwards to the ground again.

“I-I thought you wanted me to rise!” Húrin manages to choke out even as his breath is temporarily gone from him. Morgoth actually snarls as he moves forward with unnatural speed to seize him by his hair and drag him to his feet so that his legs are moved painfully against the uneven ground, reopening more old cuts. Húrin has difficulty maintaining his balance when the Vala releases him, swaying on his feet. 

“Do not disappoint me, Thalion,” Morgoth says softly, “We have quite some time before I am finished with you today.” Húrin‘s eyes narrow as he lets himself fall back against the wall. 

Maeglin Lómin

Maeglin was cold. He could not remember the last time cold had so completely consumed him, nor did he understand exactly where it came from. As he was dragged by two orcs to the tiny cell he currently crouched in, it had been blasts of hot air that had assaulted him, the burning red of the coals and furnaces that made up the vast subterranean forges.

The Dark Lord releases him from his chains. The elf could only find this more ominous, even as he touched his own wrists gingerly. The skin there was raw and painful. When Maeglin tried to look up, his vision was taken completely by the looming figure before him. Perhaps the removal of the chains was not so ominous; there was no escaping here regardless of whether or not he was bound. They both knew it.

“I will not remain here for long, child,” Morgoth says as Maeglin catches his breath, “Tell me why I should not simply leave you here to languish in the dark?” Maeglin has never before feared the dark before being brought here. Indeed it had been a source of comfort for him.

Maeglin was not yet ready to answer Morgoth’s proposition. He knew it would not be long.

Lúthien Tinúviel

Each brush of her feet on the cold stone beneath her tingles with an unhelpful awareness of her entire form. It is quite unlike any dance she has performed even as she gathers and manipulates familiar movements. There is no forest here to accompany her song, only the far away cacophony of iron and suffering, dissonant and grating.

The air that fills her lungs as she sings fills her mind with dreadful images of toxic fumes and landscapes choked by black smoke. Her dance does not falter as she fills the bleak hall with the echoes of her voice. The eyes of the dark lord bore into her, his position on his throne above her meaning he did not ever have to move to keep her in sight even when she strayed towards the very edges of the spacious throne room, flitting in and out of the spots of dim light afforded by the strangely wrought lanterns. Lúthien was lithe and strong but the energy she had spent on the initial breaching of the fortress had been significant and she found herself soon longing for those eyes to flicker out to mean the end of her dance. But she knew she could not keep her thoughts only on that if she was to continue without error.

Author’s note: I hope this is ok! That was my first time writing Lúthien

#the silmarillion #maedhros #morgoth #melkor #Húrin #Lúthien #maeglin #the children of húrin #in the Iron Hell #short writings #blind you be morgoth bauglir #I am feeling so bad about my writing lately so unfortunately that probably makes the quality worse if anything

[amani-outrider]

"Shaman that actively knows the elements and harnesses them on a regular basis doesn't know what erosion is and needs the smart blood elf to teach him about it"

Hey, author of this book, what the FUCK are you talking about

#the idea behind this doesnt even make sense if this book was targetted for a younger audience because the implication is still kinda racist #zekhan is young but hes not stupid #everyday i learn more about this book that just makes me lose it

[finn-week]

Finn Week 2021 Round Up

Thank you so very much to everyone who participated! I’m not the best at promotion, so I know some people found out about the event only a bit before the week or even during the week, so I hope you’ll participate next year or in another event! I want to try to encourage Finn-centric content throughout the year and I have a few ideas, but if anyone has anything they’d like to see for that let me know!

As I’ve stated before, even though this round up has been posted it’s still fine to post something for the week and it will be reblogged and added to this roundup later. The AO3 collection is also still open for people to add their works!

Please also let me know if I’ve missed anything or if I’ve missed a Tumblr link, for example. I did my best but things may have slipped by me.

Format: Title by Creator | Rating, Pairings | Type of Work

※Fanart is general listed by the prompt unless there was some other title written.

※I haven’t included detailed tags or pairings beyond the the rating and the main pairing with Finn for this list, so do take a look through the tags for anything you decide to read.

Day 1

Elf Finn by nikaranikita | General, no pairings | Fanart

in ; out by mssrj_335 (Tumblr) | Teen, FinnPoe | Fanfic

Jitters by sluttysuperheroes (Tumblr) | General, FinnPoe | Fanfic

lights that guide you inward by commanderdameron (Tumblr) | Teen, FinnPoe | Fanfic

Not A Galaxy Far Far Away by politicalpadme | General, no pairings | Fanart

Release by Writtenonmybody (Tumblr) | Explicit, FinnPoe | Fanfic

Tattoo by asiminthering | General, no pairings | Fanart

Tattoo by issysunra | General, no pairings | Fanart

Tattoo/AU by justrunamok | Teen, no pairings, Fanfic

Vhekad Naast by svartalfheimr | General, no pairings | Fanfic

What's in a Name? by The_Young_Wolf | General, no pairings | Fanfic

Day 2

Compassion by issysunra | General, no pairings | Fanart

Force by agrippaspoleto | General, FinnPoe | Fanart

Force by asiminthering | General, no pairings | Fanart

Hands by politicalpadme | General, no pairings | Fanvideo

memorial by mssrj_335 | Teen, FinnPoe | Fanfic

Senses in Sleep by sluttysuperheroes (Tumblr) | General, FinnPoe | Fanfic

Space Cadet by svartalfheimr | General, no pairings | Fanfic

You're Force Sensitive, Finn! by The_Young_Wolf | Teen, no pairings | Fanfic

Day 3

an idea, a home, a promise by The_geeky_fangirl (Tumblr) | General, mentioned FinnPoe | Fanfic

Erosion by svartalfheimr | General, no pairings | Fanfic

first flight by mssrj_335 (Tumblr) | Teen, FinnPoe | Fanfic

Jedi Finn by issysunra | General, no pairings | Fanart

Promises Cast in Silver by sluttysuperheroes (Tumblr) | General, FinnPoe | Fanfic

Resistance by asiminthering | General, no pairings | Fanart

Day 4

Comets by svartalfheimr | General, no pairings | Fanfic

Family by issysunra | General, no pairings | Fanfic

found by mssrj_335 (Tumblr) | Teen, FinnPoe | Fanfic

Hope by asiminthering | Teen, no pairings | Fanart, Fanfic

Hope by RightHereInMyArms (Tumblr) | Not Rated (General?), FinnPoe | Fanfic

i’ll paint the kitchen neon, i’ll brighten up the sky by The_geeky_fangirl (Tumblr) | General, FinnPoe | Fanfic

Refractions by sluttysuperheroes (Tumblr) | General, FinnPoe | Fanfic

Day 5

Evil Finn by issysunra | General, no pairings | Fanart

Finn Comic Cover by butdoireallycare | General, no pairings | Fanart

Hearts and Minds by svartalfheimr | General, Finn/Kazuda Xiono | Fanfic

Home by asiminthering | General, no pairings | Fanart

Names by politicalpadme | Meta

space together by mssrj_335 (Tumblr) | General, FinnPoe | Fanfic

Day 6

Friendship by asiminthering | General, no pairings | Fanfic

The Dead Never Leave by svartalfheimr | General, side pairings | Fanfic

Day 7

Emojis by asiminthering | General, no pairings | Fanart

N7FAA52318 by svartalfheimr | General, no pairings | Fanfic

we'll count the stars and say their names by gmariam19 (Tumblr) | General, FinnPoe | Fanfic

The Shadow by cookie_rock | General, no pairings | Fanfic

#swfinnweek2021 #roundup #day 1 #day 2 #day 3 #day 4 #day 5 #day 6 #day 7