#I think as someone with lolth's blood inside her | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

galedekarios · 20 days

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you mentioned a few days ago about how Eilistraee's connection to Mystra is part of what bonded Alton and Gale initially, can we hear more about that? sorry i'm just a huge Eilistraee fan and love your ocs so much so my ears perk up whenever they're mentioned at the same time

i apologise in advance because this got away from me!

i already had something written up from a while ago, but your message gave me the motivation to polish and finish it.

thank you. 🖤

"May I enter, my friend?"

Gale’s only answer is a ragged breath coming from the far side of the ruin. The small space is only illuminated by a single candle by the entrace, the dim light not enough to banish the darkness reigning inside entirely – at least not for his poor human eyes.

"...You may.”

Gale steps inside the crumbling ruin Altonaufein had made his sanctuary right from the moment they had made camp a tenday ago, the stone walls a protection as much as at least an illusion of privacy, "I'm going to approach, Altonaufein. I have something for you."

Through squinted eyes, Gale is barely able to make out the shape of the drow: Sitting on the ground, back to the wall, knees half drawn up, both of his arms loosely resting on them. His short-cropped hair a stark contrast even in the low light.

It's dishevelled, tufts of white sticking up at odd angles, reminding Gale very much of his dear Tara – of when he was young and, to tease her, had brushed back her fur the wrong way. She’d complained, of course, though more for show, and unlike Tara, Altonaufein has twin scimitars resting close to his side. Gale has seen their deadly dance firsthand.

The search for the Githyanki crèche had not gone well. They had found Zorru, yes, but what had followed had been a tense moment between his two companions.

Lae’zel and Altonaufein – their relationship between the two was strained at the best of times – of which there aren’t many lately, Gale finds himself thinking ruefully – yet when Lae’zel had commanded that poor terrified tiefling to bow, lower and lower, to humiliate himself before her, the drow’s eyes had glowed like freshly spilled blood, scarred hand tightening on the hilt of his blade, Drowic harsh on his tongue. Gale had interfered before the situation could truly escalate, but the moment had stayed with him on their track back to camp all the same. As it had with Altonaufein, evidently.

So close now, he catches the red glint of Altonaufein’s eyes again, muted now, but still there. The flickering candlelight casts sharp angles on the drow’s face. Many fainter at heart would turn heel at the sight, run screaming for a mob, for pitchforks and pyres, but Gale finds himself not so easily cowed.

He’s a wizard of Waterdeep after all and has dealt with far worse than a taciturn drow.

“I took the liberty of preparing you a cup,” Gale holds up a warm steaming mug, its strong herbal scent gentled by spices and honey, “Peppermint and balsam with a dash of sweetness. It calms more than the discomfort of our current surroundings.”

Red eyes flick from Gale to the mug then to Gale's face again. It doesn’t take someone particularly insightful to spot the distrust in them.

"Why do you keep doing this?" The drow’s raspy voice is low and rough, as if a hand had wrapped itself around his throat and squeezed too tight. Yet it was no hand, Gale knows. Its loneliness, isolation, its claws sunk deep. Altonaufein had held himself apart from the group since the beginning. And who knows of his experiences before all this, too.

"Because you are in need of a friendly hand," Gale’s tone is so matter-of-fact, as if he was speaking a simple truth, obvious to anyone who would care to see it. As if he wasn’t talking to a drow, ruby-eyed with Lolth’s touch. A hint of a smile twitches his lips as he remembers the drow’s own friendly hand pulling him for the unstable portal, saving his life, grip strong and sure.

"Do I?" Altonaufein lets his head fall back towards what's left of the ruin's stone wall.

Refusing to let himself be discouraged, Gale still holds the mug, waiting for Altonaufein to take it.

"Does the thought not bring you some peace, my friend? Having an ally in this journey that we have so unexpectedly found ourselves on?" Gale asks, brown eyes patient, free of judgement. He wishes to understand, but at times he feels like navigating conversations with Altonaufein is like navigating the waters of the Sea of Swords. In a rowboat. On a starless night.

He doesn’t blame the drow for it. He’s heard hushed whispers at the Promenade, a few tales at the Yawning Portal, from a moondancer here and there, caught too deep in their cups, caught even deeper in their memories.

"Peace?" Altonaufein's mouth thins, lips pressed together, gazing at the night sky. There is a pause and Gale almost thinks the drow will leave it at that before he continues, "It might as well be up there, with the moon and the stars. I'll never have peace." A breathy sound follows, one that Gale realises is a laugh, bitter as nightshade.

Gale frowns, brows drawing down. The thought doesn’t sit right with him.

Never knowing peace? No one deserves that, he thinks, his own hand unconsciously reaching up to lay over his chest, where, under the threadbare fabric of his tunic, the deepest of the bruised purple lines of his magical scar remain well-hidden.

Banishing the shadow that had crept through his mind like the sun rising over clear waters, a poem comes to him, a second nature, its words familiar, “Speak with me. Speak of the broken past, named and not. Speak of the uneasy peace we share. Speak with me, through the night, the night air, the breathing particles of other lives. Too much to carry around the heart. Speak free.”

At the confused look in Altonaufein’s red eyes, Gale cannot help but smile. It seems a different strategy will have to be employed. Luckily, he has many at his disposal.

Ah well, it's no trouble at all.

Casting a minor illusion, a gentle moon appears between them, almost translucent; a faint purple glow illuminating their faces in the half-dark.

“Let me propose something to you,” voice slow and measured, Gale’s eyes hold the drow’s gaze, “You told me you look to the moon. What if I tell you about what I know of your goddess while you drink the tea? It'll keep you warm and chase away your worries – for a spell, of course. I promise, no magic in it, not even a whisper of the Weave.” With a chuckle, he adds, “Save perhaps for the magic of Mother Nature herself, I suppose.”

Where at first the drow had startled at the unexpected motions, hands reaching for the weapons at his feet, seemingly innately recognising the arcane power behind them, his shoulders lose their tension when he sees the illusion of the moon.

Altonaufein's weary gaze lifts from the illusion hovering over Gale’s palm to search his face. They are the eyes of someone who is unused to promises given and kept, but he seems to find what he was looking for, hand deceptively sure when he takes the mug Gale is offering.

He was right. Gale knew there were the first fragile seeds of trust here, between the two of them, he was sure of it, and, by Mystra, he’s glad he had been right. He had had little cause for gladness in years.

Settling against the rough stonewall, too, only a arm’s width away from Altonaufein, Gale moves his hand in front of both of them.

He’d startled the drow just a moment ago and he refuses to make the same mistake twice, “Let me show you something – or someone, rather. The moon you look to, the goddess that has guided you, is none other than the Dark Maiden, Lady Silverhair.”

The moon in front of them changes into a new form, one of a female drow, dancing, bare, save for the silver hair falling in long waves around her body like a long silver veil, a sword in her hand, a smile on her handsome face.

“When Corellon's wife, known then as Araushnee, tried to kill him, he forced her, and all dark elves, into exile. They were all expelled from his haven, Arvandor, with the exception of his daughter,” Gale cannot help the dramatic pause he makes, a storyteller before a grand reveal, “Eilistraee.”

There’s an undeniable spark in Altonaufein’s tired eyes as he leans forward ever so slightly, mug held tight in his hand. Gale catches the motion instantly for what it is: The drow is engrossed in the story he weaves.

“The Dark Maiden, compassionate, asked him to banish her, too, so convinced she was that the dark elves would need guidance to travel the surface and to fight this evil that would inevitably take form again, known later as Lolth.“

Eilistraee’s illusion is joined by another figure. A woman.

“Eilistraee became a friend of Mystra, the goddess of Magic and the Weave.”

With the mention of her name, Gale feels the by now familiar combination of sadness and melancholy, love and pain, twist his heart. Not allowing himself to linger, the wound still so fresh in his mind, he pushes on.

“She is and embodies the Weave itself. I used to see it completely, all around us, but now… Well, perhaps that is best saved for another time. Another story.”

With a flick of the wrist the illusion is gone, only leaving behind rolling waves of purple and blue.

“This is the Weave, connecting us all, connecting everything through magic. During the Time of Troubles, the Gods walked among us. Eilistraee appeared to mortals, too. If my memory does not fail me, she appeared in Waterdeep, in a location that later came to be known as the Dark Maiden's Leap, a site of pilgrimage sacred to her. The goddess ventured there to rescue a group of drow refugees and lead them to safety. In honour of her deed, a temple was founded, the Promenade, safe in Waterdeep itself.”

As he tells his story, Gale shifts – the hard stone wall bothers his back, yes, but the story draws him in as much as it does Altonaufein – his shoulder almost touching the drow’s.

“Now, that's something I can speak about first-hand: I visited it myself. The Promenade of the Dark Maiden is a sacred temple of Eilistraee, located in the Undermountain. It’s there that her clergy stops the horrors of the Underdark from reaching the city while, at the same time, helping all those in need. Slaves, escapees, lost souls.”

Gale steals a glance at Altonaufein out of the corner of his eye, “Admirable, really.”

Clearing his throat, he continues, “Eilistraee fought many battles and, in one of those battles against her mother, she was killed. Yet soon, she returned. After the Second Sundering, she was seen again in Waterdeep. Three years ago, we witnessed the Dark Dancer, near the walls of the city. In that year, Waterdeep welcomed an influx of moondancers.”

Over his outstretched palm, a figure appears once more, with silver hair, dancing under the moon, brighter than before.

“It's said that the Dark Maiden has helped Mystra in containing and repairing the Weave for many years. You see, their friendship is very deep. They help each other, they share the Weave.”

With a flick of the wrist, the illusion is gone again and Gale tries to chase the wistfulness away that had risen up in him so sharply, almost stealing his words.

Altonaufein's eyes are wide as he turns to look at Gale. There's wonder in them and longing and... hope?

That hope, that spark he sees, makes Gale smile again, soft and small and private, “The Dark Maiden and Mystra revel in freedom and in mysteries, in the little chaotic marvels that magic brings, in nurturing beauty, in embracing the happiness that living in this world, in beautiful Faerûn, inspires.”

The drow, who had been mustering him so intently before, drops his gaze to the floor in what Gale can only assume is a force of habit. It's clear to Gale that his words touch something inside Altonaufein so he decides to simply press ahead, “Now you know why I keep doing this. How can I see a follower of the Dark Maiden in need and not offer him a friendly hand? I want to honour our ladies' friendship, Altonaufein. Life is all about humble miracles."

Silence follows, but Gale cannot find it in himself to regret his words. He nearly makes to stand as only the steady rush of the waterfall sounds around them – then, quietly, "Thank you... Gale."

Words rough with emotion that have not been wrest back under control, still, it's the first time the drow has called Gale by his name.

Not rivvil.

Not faern.

Not even a cautious abbil.

Simply ‘Gale’ – and Gale's smile widens further with the realisation.

"Don't mention it. I hope that my little story brought some comfort to you.”

"It has," Altonaufein’s answer is curt, but there’s a gratefulness in those red eyes Gale can see as clear as day. Scarred hand reaching out, the very tips of Altonaufein's fingers hovering just over Gale's heart, drawing away before they can truly make contact.

"You are... kind,” the drow’s words are halting, as if they taste odd on his tongue.

Gale doesn't move away, only glad that the drow is willing to break his walls – at least for today. He stands, rubbing his back, almost comically, exaggerating in hopes of winning a smile from the drow, "My, this wilderness takes some getting used to, I do so long for a proper bed with at least a dozen down feather pillows..."

When he sneaks another glance at his companion, Gale sees that he has won this battle, too.

"I suppose I need to prepare dinner, otherwise we’ll have to suffer Karlach’s cooking. If you are in the mood, please approach the group tonight,” with that, Gale casts a final illusion before he turns to leave: The Dark Maiden dancing under the stars, Mystra at her side.

“It will last a few moments, my friend.”

Altonaufein's eyes linger on Gale’s back a bit longer than perhaps necessary before focusing on the illusion the wizard had crafted, and his heart feels oddly light with it.

On a night when the moon shines as brightly as this, the unspoken thoughts of even the most discreet heart might be seen.

—Izumi Shikibu, “On a Night—”, trans. by Jane Hirshfield with Mariko Aratani in The Ink Dark Moon: Love Poems by Ono No Komachi & Izumi Shikibu, Women of the Ancient Court of Japan

#a big thank you goes to lairofsentinel #who helped me lay the groundwork for this as well as alton and gale's dynamic <3 #i'm mildly mortified now and will go into hiding #otp: a soul that steels my own #ch: gale dekarios #ch: altonaufein #vg: baldur's gate 3 #series: baldur's gate #fic: mybg3 #text: asks

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firstknightvulion · 1 month

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Now, there is some discourse regarding Minthara and her romance. Specifically, that it feels out of character for her to romance a Masculine presenting Tav. I respectfully disagree.

Minthara is all about power. Ya gotta prove yourself to her. Be vicious and direct. She don’t give a hoot about your gender identity, she’s looking at your kill streak.

But it did give me an idea. Minthara has spoken about going back to Menzoberranzan and burning that fucker to the ground to spite Lolth (paraphrasing). My Seladrine Drow Tav (half Drow/half moon elf) would join her because he’s got a hate boner for the religion of Lolth that’s been turgent since his family and friends were killed by a Lolth Warband’s attack on his Eilistraeen compound.

Now, I imagine her first target would be her house. Minthara would want to twist the knife. Make them suffer.

Minthara’s Mother stands in the great hall of her house. Two of her daughters stand by her side. They are the last of their house. Hours before a shadow descended into their home and started systematically killing every living thing inside.

The great doors to the hall fly open with an explosion. Shrapnel and smoke fill the space. A heart beat later, two arrows fly through the air with deadly intent. They find their marks in the two daughters. One is hit through the eye, she drops instantly. The other is struck in the throat. She does not die quickly. She gurgles and grasps at her throat, feebly trying to stop the escaping blood. Her hands fall limp as the sound of deliberate footsteps fill the hall.

Minthara’s Mother looks away from her daughters’ corpses and up at the dark figure walking towards her. It is dressed in Drow leathers, a hood and mask covering the face. Two green eyes stare at her from shadow of the hood.

Minthara’s Mother: What pit spawned you!?

A chuckle is heard from behind the figure, a deep and dangerous sound. Minthara walks in, blood and a wicked smile painting her face.

Minthara: Hello, mother.

MM: Minthara?! You heretical traitor! Why haven’t you had the decency to die?!

Minthara: The Spider Bitch’s webs will burn, mother. The house Baenre will be the first of the kindling.

MM: You would have us become ash for the sake of such blasphemy?! Deeper and deeper you fall into a pit of shame!

Minthara: To feel shame, I would need to feel remorse. I assure you, mother, I feel only joy. The fact that you were cast down by one so low shall keep warm and smiling for many decades to come.

Minthara pulls back the figures hood. The scared face of Drow male greets her. His eyes a green and while sporting the dark skin of a Drow, it is very pale, almost ashen.

Minthara: This male is of the traitors that stole away to the surface to follow Eilistraee!

MM: How?! How were we defeated by such an inferior being?!

Minthara: Stealth is very broken in this game, mother.

Tav: Minthara! The fourth wall!

Minthara: He was conceived by a loving union that bridged the gap between Drow and our surface kin! In the missionary position!

MM: *gasps*

Tav: *giving Minthara a very confused look*

Minthara: He is not only a third son, he is a sixth son! You were beaten by a third son times two!

MM: *clutches her metaphorically pearls*

Tav: *is an only child but knows enough of Menzoberranzan culture to be slightly offended*

Minthara: He is my romantic partner! I treat him as an equal!

Tav, somehow, feels the sensation of someone vomiting in his thoughts.

MM: You disgust the Spider Queen! Next you’ll tell me you don’t even peg him!

Tav: No, she does.

Minthara: Mother, please. I’m a genocidal conqueror, I’m not debased.

Suddenly, Minthara pulls the sword out of the scabbard hanging from Tav’s back. Within a blink of an eye, it is driven through her mother’s chest. Minthara leaves it embedded in her mother’s body half the blade sticking out of her back. With a gasp, she falls over.

Minthara: *kneeling down to whisper in her mother’s ear* The blade is of Eilistraee. Fitting, don’t you think, mother?

Minthara stands, throwing her head back and raising her arms, as if soaking up sunlight. She begins to laugh.

Minthara: The first conquest is done.

She walks over to the Matriarch’s throne and sits down.

Minthara: Come, fuck me.

Tav: Now?

Minthara: What better time and place than this? My former house is ended, my mother dead-

Tav: She’s not dead.

Minthara: What?

Tav: Still gurgling.

Minthara: Oh, for the love of-she can’t be long for this world.

Tav: Do you want to wait? I don’t want to pull out the blade in case that kills her. I’ll be hearing about taking the honor of killing the mother for years after.

Minthara: No, I don’t want to wait!

Minthara quickly jogs over and pulls the sword out of her mother’s chest. She plunges it in again, hitting the ground underneath. With pure malice in her eyes, her mother reaches up to clutch Minthara’s leg.

Tav: Wow, she is resilient.

Minthara: Enough of this!

Ripping the sword out of her mother’s chest, Minthara makes a wild swing and cut the Drow’s head clean off. The pair watch it roll down the length of the hall. Before another snarky comment can leave his lips, Minthara’s mouth collides with his. They stand, kissing, amongst the skeleton of Minthara’s old home for several moments.

Minthara: Come, there is a duty to which you must attend.

Tav: You have a thing for thrones, don’t you?

Honestly, I should get an Ao3 account cause my posts are looking like fanfiction chapters.

This post was all to get to that line Minthara says about the sixth son. That and the 4th wall break.

#funny #shitpost #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #minthara x tav #bg3 minthara #bg3 tav #drow elf #dnd drow #black comedy #dark humor

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cozycryptidcorner · 3 years

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The Mad Prince, Chapter 11 (sfw)

Chapter 10

“Are you sure?” You ask, gaping, and Clementine glares at you in response. You’re suddenly hyper-aware of how she has dedicated her entire life to identifying, hunting down, and killing driders, all while on the bloodied front lines of a war, so she is currently an expert on such a topic.

“Am I sure that the front line footage that some soldiers died to send back to base is somehow fabricated?” She asks, testily.

Your brain is buzzing like a thousand fireflies have crawled into your ears. “But that doesn’t make any sense, Clem.”

“You’re absolutely correct,” she still sounds vaguely pissed, but that’s her default tone. “Which means that there’s more than meets the eye, and we now have to figure out what.”

The keias values honesty, Elias’ words come back, unbidden, if you ask, he will answer.

“We can’t go prodding around now, though, because that will throw a lot of weird suspicion on you.” You bite at the skin around your thumb, trying to figure out how to go about this in the most delicate way possible.

After a moment of hard silence where you are almost too aware of how loud your breathing is, Clementine prods, “you and the prince or whatever he actually is weren’t acting too couple-y.”

Annoyance starts dripping into the hollow of your chest, and you feel a build of angry pressure beginning to rise. “He- he didn’t tell me he was engaged.”

For the first time since her bubbly mask fell off, she shows some semblance of human emotion by almost choking on her spit. Quickly, she gets herself under control and shakes her head as though she might have expected such, then sighs.

“I mean, and his fiance was assassinated. Elias told me she died of sudden heart failure, but like she was a drow and-”

“A drow?” She turns to you again, her eyes narrowed until they were almost slits, “as in, two legs and walking upright? Are you sure?”

“Y-yes,” the indignancy of being lied to by omission is still thrumming through your chest, “and he apparently really loved her.”

“Obviously so, because it would have been rather illegal for him to marry outside of his species.” Clem sits back up from her lounging position, plucking a flower that grew right in front of her legs.

You don’t like all this new information being rained down upon so quickly, but you suck in your breath and try to take this one in stride. There’s a dull thudding in your head, like a distant drumbeat. “So there are race-based marriage laws?”

“Of course, didn’t you know?”

No, you’re suddenly acutely aware of how unprepared you are. “The matchmakers didn’t make me aware of that.” You suppose it does explains a lot, like how stressed the prince is at you meeting the rest of his family, or how he doesn’t seem to want you to go out and explore on your own, and such.

Clementine lets out a gruff sigh, you suppose from frustration at having to hold your hand like a toddler throughout a warzone. You try to not let that bother you. It’s… not really your fault, is it? You didn’t want this to happen, if you could go back to your completely shitfaced self as you were about to enter all pertinent information to Starward Matchmakers™ glowing neon booth, you would bludgeon the back of your head with a bat.

“Okay, so someone is trying to kill you,” she holds up one finger, “and we know from that assistant guy that they are very capable of doing so,” she adds another finger, “and you aren’t even in the good graces of your princely other half, assuming that drider is who he says he is.”

You swallow thickly, feeling positively ill, pressing your fingertips into the pressure points on your temples in the hopes your brain might untangle. “Clementine?”

“Yeah.”

“The Starward Matchmakers™ did match me with the prince, right? This isn’t some kind of weird mistake? Or like… or like what they were trying to do with you?”

“Do you know anyone with the budget of a large government’s military that can handle a bribe of such proportions who might think it’s funny to pull such a dangerously cosmic prank?”

“No.” You look down at your hands as the last bit of hope that this might all be a nightmarish misunderstanding slips through your fingers.

Clementine softens, though only slightly, letting out another sigh and very awkwardly giving you a pat on the back, which is about the most she’ll ever offer in the way of sympathy. “Tough it out. Paint a pretty smile on that face of yours and maybe make out with him a little.”

“Clementine!” You raise your voice, then look self consciously back at your guards as they assess whether or not you need their aid. “That’s not how this works.”

“This is exactly how this works, kid, even if he’s an alien spider, he’s still a male.” She rolls her eyes. “And stop acting like a prude.”

“Yeah, but he is,” another wave of frustration razes through your blood and right to your fingertips. “One time I kissed him, he thought it was essentially a marriage proposal.”

Her face wrinkles into a grimace, but she seems to take in marginal good humor. “Okay, so he’s a virgin. That makes things easier, maybe just show him your ankle or something, he’d drool all over it.”

You’re going to say something snippy in response, maybe tell her that she should do the ankle-showing, but the mental image of the fucking drider prince of Lolth freezing as he stares at a bare leg and foot does have a level of absurdity to it that makes you choke your words down into a wry laugh. “I don’t know, maybe it will give him brain damage.”

“All the better to finish this war finally,” Clem stretches out her arms, “Anything else you’d like to fill me in on?”

“Heikka Nisesh, you know, the famous war criminal? He was supposed to be my first physician, but I threw a big enough fit that I ended up with a basic drow doctor.”

She immediately tenses, her entire body going into an alert that is unique to a trained soldier. “Tell me you’re joking. Now.”

“I’m not.”

There’s another expression in her eyes, now, one that you’re not at all familiar with. Panic, of which she’s obviously trying to settle so the guards don’t become suspicious and approach to get within hearing range. With a shuddering, tense breath, she shakes her head and tries to orient herself back into reality. With no small amount of room in her tone to be anything more than a command, she says, “know that they and I mustn’t ever meet, do you understand? We can’t cross paths, or this whole thing is going to dissolve.”

“Do you want to talk-”

“No.” She stands, glancing over at the guards. “I’d like a tour now.”

Shakily, you agree, getting up so fast you almost faint. There’s a brief dizziness rattling around in your skull, but you manage to get everything under control enough to show her around.

Whenever you aren’t in the gardens, you have to be very, very careful of dancing around talking normally and not revealing too much. Because ‘girl talk’ is supposed to be about boy troubles and gossip, but having a whole conversation about the crown prince monarch’s shortcomings when there are an indeterminate amount of people listening and reporting back to him doesn’t hold any appeal.

So the present conversation immediately drops as you give her your very restricted-access tour, the long hallways of the floor she is on, all the while she disguises her memorization of all exits and entrances as admiration for the architecture and ornate doors. There’s an odd kind of pinch throbbing between your eyes, and you have to stop for a moment to give yourself a moment to breathe.

“Are you alright?” For once, Clementine drops a shred of her false personality, her hand grabbing onto your arm almost tightly to hold you up if you faint.

“I just- I think I need to sit down.” The edges of your eyes blur somewhat, the top of your brain fuzzing over like someone poured a soft drink into your skull.

“Can you walk?” She asks, glaring at the guards when one of them steps forward, probably to carry you.

“Yeah,” you lie, hoping that you can just will yourself to keep from passing out, “I think your room is close enough.”

When you wobble just a bit, Clementine wraps her arm around your waist and props you up with her hip, then quickly gives up the strain of one arm and trades it in to pick you up like a baby.

You protest, of course you do, but there’s little you can do to actually wriggle out of her grip. Shockingly, it’s not the first time she’s had to carry you because of an almost skull-splitting headache, though the last time it was because she side-swiped your legs out from under you and your forehead was the thing to take the brunt of the fall. She also wasn’t so nice about it, either, dragging you to the side of the room by the arm like a ragdoll to await a medic.

Now, you suppose with the guards eying you, she can’t yank your limp body back to her room, and you’d honestly rather let her carry you than one of the drow guards. Once you get inside her apartment, she almost unkindly tosses you onto the couch, mumbling something about an ice pack or blanket.

“Did you call for someone?” She asks, and it takes your brain a muddled moment to realize that she isn’t talking to you.

Quiet mumbling, all things you can’t catch.

Almost impatiently, she yells, “are you both fucking daft? Call the assistant, what’s his face. The one with the white hair! Yes I mean the prince’s first servant, who else did you think I’m talking about?” Her words shift into a language you don’t understand as she walks over to the kitchen, but you’ve heard enough foreign swear words to know that she’s probably cussing them out of a job.

It doesn’t take too long for Elias to arrive, or maybe it took a long time, and your brain is just so fried you didn’t notice.

“Why isn’t there any ice in the foodkeep?” Clementine’s already pounced, and you’re not sure if this is her ‘worried best friend’ character or her actual self about to dress someone down for putting one of her soldiers in danger.

“For what, exactly?” Elias sounds slightly taken aback by the show of aggression, something rattling in his hands.

“For her head, stupid, she’s almost burning up!” Again, her language dissolves into something unintelligible, though her tone gets the message across. Maybe she’s showing a bit of both sides for your sake.

“I have some pills,” he almost sounds defensive, now, “it will help with the pressure, her head should-”

”Give me that,” Clem snaps, and you hear even more rattling as she looks over whatever he was about to give you. “What the hell are these?”

“Painkillers,” Elias takes her fury in stride, probably having dealt with much more significant threats in his day, “the best and highest dose for her human body. They were just imported from one of your human pharmaceutical companies, Bionova™, it’s what the matchmaker files suggested we get her.”

There’s another round of rattling, but then footsteps as Clementine sits herself on the couch, just in front of where your legs tug under a blanket she absentmindedly threw onto you earlier, and hands you the bottle.

Now you manage to sit up, despite the angry tightening in your skull, like each individual blood vessel in your brain is squeezing the gray matter down a size. Holding the pill bottle in one hand while scratching your arm nervously in the other, you ask Elias one more time. “You say these were imported?”

“Straight over the border,” Elias promises, “no one would want anything to happen to you.”

I beg to differ, you think, but pop the lid open anyway. The dull thrumming in your head has you almost desperate to do anything to get yourself rid of it, so you put one of the pills on your tongue and swallow it dry. Clementine, at least, is already rummaging through her cabinets until she finds a glass to fill with water.

“The keias has been notified of her condition, and will come as soon as he is able.”

You try not to roll your eyes, to be entirely honest, even shifting your irises sends a sharp nail through your head. “Tell him not to rush on my behalf.”

Again, Clementine sits by your side, handing a glass of water over and watches you gulp it down like a dehydrated animal. Elias, also, seems to watch you with a nervous regard in his eyes and dismisses the soldiers with nothing more than a couple of words. When the extra ears are out of the suite, he turns back over to you.

“This doesn’t leave this room,” he starts, glaring over at Clementine, “but I want you to be aware that he can’t seem to have any weaknesses for you, which is why he isn’t rushing as quickly as I’m sure you’d like.”

Letting out a breath, the pain of the headache getting to you, you ask, “why are you telling me this?”

Elias looks at you, not with anger, with disappointment, and that’s the thing that makes you feel almost ashamed with how you have been treating the prince as of late. “So you do not feel abandoned, your grace.”

Oh, right, it’s back with your grace, Elias’ own way of giving you a super polite cold shoulder. “Thanks, I guess.”

“Also, just as a precaution, the prince will want your doctor to look over your state, but I believe that it would be pertinent to have a so-called house call instead of going down to the clinic in person.”

“Probably, yeah.” The aching throbbing between your eyes has reduced your language usage down to the basics, and it takes you a hot minute to process anything anyone else says. Clementine had been missing for a moment, but she suddenly returns with a damp cloth she places over your eyes.

There’s a tense, but calm conversation, and as much as you’d like to try paying attention, you can only focus on the dull throbbing in the rear of your head. More talking. You curl up into a ball, the couch large enough so that your knees don’t hand off the back, and you try to dig your fingers into any pressure points of your skull in the hopes it might ease the tension.

Suddenly, a hand comes to rub the side of your arm. “Hey, princess,” Clementine whispers almost soothingly, “you’re going to wait for the doctor and spend the night here, okay?”

You mumble something in affirmation.

The doctor comes, you hear her voice and feel her prodding touches, but you don’t feel like you’re capable of even offering a meager greeting. There’s a pinch of something in the crook of your elbow, and the feelings cease, slowly. You don’t remember the point in which you fell asleep. Only that you wake up with Clementine conked out in the chair opposite of the furniture arrangement.

When you wake back up, it’s because your head feels like someone took an ax to your skull, it almost causes you to faint from the pain itself. All you can do is lay on the couch, arms wrapped around your head. It feels like every bone in your body is bruised or fractured, but your head takes the brunt of the pain.

Someone is talking again. You don’t have the ability to focus on them.

You’re not sure if you can fucking survive this, but gentle hands help you sit up, and there’s yet another sharp, pinching pain in your arm. After a moment, there’s a softness washing over you, like a manifestation of light and comfort flows through your veins and eases the suffering.

You’ve felt this way before.

When you open your eyes, the room is washed in a kaleidoscope of colors you hadn’t noticed until now, and you’re surrounded by a bunch of people that you know, you think you know, but your brain takes its sweet time putting names to faces. “Oh. Hello.”

The big one puts a hand on your head, running it down the side of your face. You don’t think you mind so much, but the smaller one is watching him with the eyes of a predator. “How are you feeling?”

“Very fucking high.” You click your tongue against the roof of your mouth, just to make a noise.

“That’s completely normal, keias.” There’s a taller woman, her robes a pleasantly warm gray. “The drugs have overwhelmed her system, she will be more lucid in a few minutes.”

“Of course.” The big one turns to you again, and you look at his face. He’s… angular, alien, but beautiful nonetheless. You don’t think you’re afraid of him.

“What does that mean?” You ask, your lips heavy and difficult to move.

“What?” It’s the smaller one that speaks.

“That word they just said. Keias.” You think you know what it means, but you want them to explain it to make sure.

“It’s a royal title?” The big one stares at you, quizzically, as though trying to figure out a puzzle in front of him.

“A royal title?” You don’t think you’ve ever met actual royalty before, at least, you don’t think you have. There’s a lot you don’t remember about yourself. “Are you like a king?”

The smaller one snickers at this, then says, “babe, no. He’s a prince.”

“A prince?” You look at him again, your eyes wide. “You’re a prince?”

He doesn’t seem flattered, only oddly concerned. Turning to the female in robes, he says, “she didn’t possess memory loss when she was last dosed.”

“I gave her a different, faster-acting painkiller.” The woman taps on the screen of a datapad. “It works to block out different parts of the brain, but she is lucid enough to get on a starship, memories, or not.”

“So it’s not actually dulling the pain, it’s just telling the brain not to process it?” The smaller woman asks arms crossed over her chest.

“Exactly, which is why it’s fast-acting and doesn’t lose effectiveness over time. The memories can be a side effect, but they should return when the drug filters out of her system.”

“You say ‘starship,’” the prince!!! observes, his many eyes narrowing slightly.

“I did indeed, your grace.” The female is not intimidated. “I think it would be best if my patient spent some time in lower gravity conditions, which can be best produced in a starship while in space.”

The prince stares at her for just a moment, as though he cannot believe she would suggest such a thing. “Nisesh says a drug can be produced to aid in here acclimation.”

The female scoffs. “Nisesh believes they might become a god with enough drugs at their disposal. I mean no disrespect towards you, your grace, but sometimes the best cure is the most obvious one.”

The prince is quiet for a long, tense moment, but the doctor doesn’t back down. It’s the smaller woman who speaks up, her voice almost laced with an underlying threat, “if that’s what’s best for her, then you need to get it done.”

His eyes snap up, and he assesses the woman with a critical eye. Then he nods sharply, once. Turning back to the doctor, he says, “how long do you suggest she stay?”

The doctor taps something onto her datapad. “I would have preferred she acclimate slowly, spending a longer time in orbit than she has, but since her body managed to stay together so well, I think you might find an improvement pain-wise within a day. So long as her body bounces back quickly, mind, because it might take longer for her to recover.”

“You will join us, then, so you may monitor her condition.” It’s not a request, but an order.

“Of course, keias,” the doctor bows at him, then steps away, tapping on the datapad.

“I’m coming, too.” The way the smaller woman speaks leaves little room for arguments. There’s something almost… admirable, you think, about the way she stands up to the bigger one, even though he looks very capable of snapping her human body in half.

“That is… acceptable,” the prince says.

Without much thought, you reach over and touch the end of his hair nearest to where you sit, the strands soft and silky as you pull them closer. “Has anyone told you that you have really nice hair?”

He stares. After a moment that consists of the woman snickering quietly, he says, “actually, yes. Yes, I have.”

You must have blacked out again because when you wake up, you are not in Clementine’s room. In fact, you’re no longer on Lolth, because the sleek, brilliance of the space is nothing like the solid, ancient architecture that you had grown accustomed to. And just beyond the edge of the large bed you’ve been placed in is a window.

There are no windows on Lolth, really, because there is nothing to gaze at when a society grows from the inside of their world, instead of the outside. As you sit up, you notice the echoes of a headache pulsing in the back of your skull, where the spine connects, and it feels like you had a rough fall. But when you place your feet onto the thickly threaded rug and stand, you find that you do it with some semblance of ease.

“You’re awake.”

You almost jump out of your skin, because the prince is hiding so efficiently in the shadows of the room that you didn’t notice him until he spoke. “Y-yes.”

A moment of awkward silence follows. You’re still wearing the same clothes as you were giving Clementine the tour- oh fuck, Clementine-

“You were asleep for a day and a half.” His voice interrupts your hazy anxiety. “I was… concerned, but the doctor said your body was repairing itself.”

“I suppose so.” You wrinkle your forehead, realizing there is dryness choking your mouth, tongue something like sandpaper against the inside of your cheek. With little ceremony, you strip out of your outer shirt, your skin singing with no longer being suffocated by cloth, your camisole much more sheer and thin. “I need some water.”

The prince rises to a stand, “allow me. Please.”

You’re not sure what he means by that, but he opens one of the cabinets of what you’re now seeing is a starship cabin, then fills a glass to the brim with the tap. His movements are jerking, unfamiliar, as though he’s having his own issues with growing used to a different form of gravity. When he hands you the cup, you’re standing right by the window, staring out at the stars.

“God,” you say, after quietly thanking him, “I forgot how much I missed this view.”

“They are beautiful,” he says, “it’s difficult to believe that they are each suns of magnificent strength from this distance. They all seem so… small. Insignificant.”

There’s a moment of quiet contemplation as you down the whole glass of water with minimal effort, then you remember what you wanted to ask him before. Looking at his reflection instead of actually making eye contact, you question, “where’s Clementine?”

“In her own cabin, or perhaps roaming around.” He pauses, mulling something over in his head. “She is- has... character, isn’t she.”

“You’ve got that right, believe me.” You let out a sigh, vaguely remembering her wordless glares, her face fuzzy in the more recent ones. Then, just for the purpose of watching his face flush dark, you say, “she thinks we should just fuck and make up.”

“Is- is that how humans solve all their problems?” He asks, though you can see the question was a fight to release. There’s a tension in his shoulders when he talks about sex now, but thankfully, he is without the odd aversion he had before like he’s… like he’s trying.

Still, the way he says it… you burst out laughing. “Oh, if sex could solve all your problems, then-” you abruptly stop yourself, realizing that this might have been a step too far outside of his comfort zone.

There’s an awkward moment of silence shared as the both of you stare out into the void, then the prince turns around and stares at you, hard, and you feel a trickle of fear thrumming up your spine. Finally, he says, “don’t. Don’t do that.”

You swallow thickly. “Don’t do what?”

“Pull away.” He stares back out to the stars, sharply, all eyes narrowing. “You show me the smallest part of yourself, and then you refuse to give me anything more. I don’t like it when you do that.”

You’re quiet for another moment, then, “well… you didn’t really approve, before.”

“Didn’t… approve?” He echoes in the fashion of a question, glancing in your direction. “What do you mean?”

“You seemed uncomfortable when the subject of sex gets brought up.”

“Ah.” He leans back slightly, his facial features relaxing slightly. “I see.”

“So I stopped.”

“There’s more than that, though.” He turns back to face you, his expression softer. “It was worse when that abomination was present. You would hide parts of yourself from me, especially when it was here.”

“The- oh.” You remember the Starward Matchmaker™ representative’s oppressive presence, and how you walked on eggshells around her. “Right. Yes. The company doesn’t want me to fuck anything up.”

“A bit hypocritical of them, then,” the prince’s gaze goes back out towards the stars, “as their formula is supposedly infallible. If all parts of us are compatible with each other, then there should be no reason for you to keep some pieces of yourself hidden.”

You stop staring at his almost translucent reflection in the window and look at his face, his profile washed in the smattering of light easing in from billions of lightyears away. More to yourself than to him, you say, “I guess that’s true.”

“So you will stop trying to keep yourself from me?” He asks, firmly, looking over at you, too.

“I-” you swallow thickly, looking at the fingerprints you left on the otherwise flawless glass in your hands, “okay. Yes.”

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#exophilia #drider/reader #drider #male drider #monster lovers #monster/reader

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galaxa-13 · 5 years

Text

Time to write some end of campaign stories.

Sia didn’t know what she wanted to do with herself anymore. They were back on the surface, Master Orlerieni was dead, King Iirod Bilviera had been returned to his wife, she had basically come full circle and was back to her very original goal: find someone to teach her magic. Did she really even need to now, though? With the kingdom of Bilviera gone she didn’t know where to go next to find a teacher, and over the course of her adventure she had grown fairly adept at controlling her magic. She wasn’t a master yet though.

Erol had asked her, before that final encounter with Gregor (or Prince Dragomir, as some were calling him), where she planned to go, the surface or the Underdark? She had told him she wasn’t sure. She had thought she wanted to return to the surface, that where where she had grown up and where her father was. Yet the Underdark was where the Ds’Eers lived and honestly? Her time with them was the first time she felt like she belonged anywhere. Not to mention Erol clearly had no love for the surface.

He never said anything when they did come to the surface with all the refugees. He had remained by her side through everything. If she decided she was going to remain up here he would probably continue to stay with her, and that was a huge comfort, but even if he never said so she could see how uncomfortable he was. Could she do that to her most loyal ally? Could she turn her back on the sunshine and everything on the surface to make him happy?

Sia asked Erol to braid her hair. It felt nice to have him brush her hair and twist it into fancy designs. It was comforting. She would figure out what to do eventually. For now she just wanted to sit and enjoy a moment of peace.

The peaceful moment didn’t come as the when he began to brush her hair they both blinked into the now familiar realm. It was the same as ever, beautiful carvings and paintings lit by a rosy, early morning glow from the large windows. There was, however, one dramatic difference. A shining figure was in the room with them. Hanali Celanil, Lady Goldheart. Sia stood in the presence of a god and she found herself shocked silent.

The elven goddess of love and beauty smiled at them and asked Erol if he had named “it” yet. Sia turned to look at her butler. “It”? What was “it”? What was going on? Erol looked annoyed and asked what the point of any of this was. The goddess laughed, like beautiful chimes.

“If you name it and give ownership to me I will give you something you want.”

Her eyes fell on Sia at the second “you”. Sia blinked. Her? What did this god intend to give her in exchange for whatever she wanted from Erol? She turned once more to her butler and found his normally disdainful expression had softened into a more somber one as he looked back at her. What was going on in his head right now? He looked back at Lady Goldheart and said, “World’s Best Butler”.

This felt extremely significant, but Sia didn’t have time to think about it as the goddess laughed and lifted her hand. Everything went dark for Sia.

She felt someone shaking her and heard her name being called. She opened her eyes as she took a deep breath. Wait. She could feel it, she wasn’t just going through the motions for effect, she was breathing. Erol was kneeling by her and staring down at her panicked. In a rush Sia sat up and looked at her hands. If she was breathing then could it be?

Her hands showed no signs of the doll joints she had become accustomed to, but even more shocking than that was their color. Dark gray, similar to Erol’s own skin color. Her newly regained breath caught in her throat.

Erol wrapped her in a tight hug and after a shocked moment Sia wrapped her arms around him as well. It was wonderful. She squeezed him as tight as she could, afraid that if she didn’t she’d lose everything. He was there, he was real, she was alive.

“I need a mirror.” she said after a moment. Erol helped her to her feet and lead her over to the wash basin. Sia blinked at her reflection in the mirror.

The same purple eyes peered back at her, but they seemed to shine even more brightly against her darker skin. She looked the same, but so different. Her gray hair was now a glistening white and her ears stretched out longer. She leaned in close to her reflection, head slightly turned, and traced the outer rim of one ear with her finger. Then she faced the mirror fully again and pressed against the backside of both ears, bending them forward. A shaky laugh left her.

She pressed a palm against her cheek and relished at the press of flesh. Her smile grew wider as she squished her face between both hands and giggled. She was a real, living person again. She was a full-blooded drow. Whipping around she beamed at Erol, almost manic.

“Erol! I’m a drow!” she squealed. Then she grabbed his hands and began jumping up and down. “I’m alive and I’m a drow! A real drow!”

She dropped his hands and ran to the center of the room, throwing her arms out and spinning in place. She continued to laugh as she twirled around. Never before had she felt such pure joy. This was amazing! This was wonderful!

Suddenly she stopped spinning. A thought had struck her. She ran over to her bag of holding and shoved her arm inside. Quickly she ripped out an envelope. She stared at her father’s name written on the front and then grinned at Erol. The envelope caught fire in her fingers as she stared at him. Her eyes flicked back to her hand as the flames ate away at the letter she had painstakingly written. She turned her hand and dumped the few motes of ash she had caught as the letter finally disappeared.

What need did she have pining for the affection of her human father who had shunted her off? She wasn’t even partly human anymore! She was free. There were others she had in her life now. People who wanted to spend time with her.

She hugged Erol again.

“Let’s return to the Underdark.”

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Of course saying she wanted to go back to the Underdark and actually getting there was two different things. They got back to the surface thanks to Gregor using that awful demon door, but he only had ownership of it for a week. The week had now passed so now the only way back was to find some other magical means, or spend months getting there by foot.

Sia was feeling restless. She wanted to know how the Ds’Eers were doing. She wanted to get her life back on track. She was getting annoyed at the sunshine she used to adore. Becoming a full-blooded drow had its drawbacks. Luckily in a few weeks an answer arrived for her travel dilemma.

She was walking in town when suddenly a giant owl flew up to her. She was startled by the creature, but it was quickly evident that it was being affectionate and not hostile. Before she could wrap her head around this development she saw a familiar figure.

“FOB!” she cried out as she threw herself at her friend. Hugging him tightly she said, “You’re alright! You’re back to normal!” Then she suddenly pulled herself away at arms length and stared at him sternly.

“You’re a stupid idiot! What were you thinking running up to that vampire?! You should have just stayed in the box with me!”

Having caused quite the scene there was now a small crowd gathered around her and Sia finally took them all in. There was the owl, a human girl, some fishy red girl, and a woman in a cloak. After introductions were given something tickled in the back of Sia’s mind. Something important. She asked the woman some questions and then she realized what it was.

She reached into her bag of holding and pulled out the huge spell tome. Offering it to the woman she felt her heart swell. There! Another task complete! Giving her old master’s gift to his long lost former apprentice! Who was apparently his daughter! Cool!

It was great to catch up with Fob and tell him all about how she came back to life as a drow. She was really excited that she would age at the same rate as him. She also liked showing off her new looks. Didn’t he think her eyes looked prettier now? She felt prettier!

Then Nerie, Master Orlerieni’s daughter, explained that she had taken on this group as her own apprentices in magic. She extended the offer to Sia. Sia was shocked for a moment before breaking out into an exuberant “YES!”. This was all she could have wanted! New friends, new master, why wouldn’t she agree?

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Sia stared down at the spider necklace in her hands, thumb slowly tracing the gem set eyes. She had had this necklace her whole life, the only thing she had of her mother’s. When she had been old enough to understand she began to wear it every day. When her powers manifested she used the necklace as a focus for her abilities. She had so many feelings tied to this piece of jewelry. Now, though, it made her uneasy.

She hadn’t been aware that it was a holy symbol for the evil goddess Lolth. That was why Erol had so readily attached himself to her, thinking she had the favor of his god. She hadn’t really cared even after she found out, but her experience with another goddess was making her rethink things.

She hadn’t ever been particularly religious in her life. The god existed, but their whims were of no concern to her. Now, though, now she knew she did have a god’s favor. Lady Goldheart had taken an interest in her. Sia had no idea why, but it was true. She was the one to have given her the construct body, she must have been the one to write that letter that had made her feel so safe and loved, and then she had fully resurrected her as a true drow.

How could she not feel indebted to her after all that? She literally owed her her life. Sia felt weird about wearing a different god’s holy symbol after all that.

When she had been younger she used to imagine all sorts of stories about who her mother was. Since she left this gift for her she must have loved her and hated leaving her behind! Her mother bust have been an astonishing beauty who immediately entranced her father. The two fell madly in love, but they knew they could never be together since she was a drow. When she found out she was pregnant she decided it would be better to leave their child on the surface instead of forcing her to live in the Underdark. It must have broken her heart to leave her behind, leaving only a necklace as proof of her love!

She had given up on the rosy outlook of her father. It was probably time to give up on her mother as well. As little time she had spent with her father she had at least spent some. Her mother was a complete non-entity, only existing in the stories she built herself. A small part of her had to admit that her excitement to explore the Underdark might have been the hope of learning anything about her mother. She was lucky enough to even find Master Orlerieni, it was ridiculous to have thought she’d find out anything about a woman she didn’t eve know the name of.

She didn’t need her anyway. Just like she didn’t need her father. Sia took a cloth and carefully wrapped up the spider necklace before storing it away. She’d go out today and get herself a new arcane focus. Then she’d eat some sweets.

#gal writes #gal plays

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merdelain · 5 years

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5, 9, 17(or game), 31, 43 for quil

thanks again! i just couldn’t get myself to write some proper fiction, but here are the answers. i really enjoyed answering stuff, at least!

On an average day, what can be found in your character’s pockets?

Well, not a lot. He can't carry much, to start with. Usually, it's just whatever money he has on him -- everything else is too large for his pockets.

He does have a few special, small items always on his person, but they don't go in his pockets. He always wears Lua's necklace (that's hidden under his shirt, though, as it's got spider iconography and that could get him in a lot of trouble) and his earrings.

Is your character’s current socioeconomic status different than it was when they were growing up?

No question about this one, Quil's a lot worse off now when it comes to finances and social standing than he ever was in his earlier youth.

Firstly there's the obvious financial component. He grew up in a situation that was sort of New Money, but not quite. His family was certainly not hurting for anything. They had money; Ches'stra had spent centuries building upon what her mother left behind, who had built from what her mother left, and so forth. Their status was only recently gained, which brings us to the next bit:

Socially, they were on the up&up, and that status was also recently gained. Ches'stra's mother worked hard to build their house a reputation, and she kept up with that legacy. By no means was Baenath a household name in Ust Natha, and they were leagues below the most powerful houses. They were, I suppose, in the lowest echelon of the upper class -- but that's still the upper class. They had money and they had clout. The way Ches'stra saw it, in a generation or two -- if her daughters were good enough -- they'd really be somebodies.

But that’s all in the past. Quil is now a homeless drow on the surface world, and he's transgender to boot. A lot of places topside don't really care about the gender part, but there certainly are people that do. More pressing, though, he's a lone drow. He might as well have a target on his back, the way most people view the drow in the surface world. He certainly feels that way, wherever he goes. All the privileges he benefited from in the Underdark no longer apply.

He has to work for his keep. He's a musician, and he loves doing what he does, so it's not really grueling as far as he's concerned; plus, musicians are usually paid fairly well, so he can usually get by fine. It is, however, work, which is not something he ever had to do growing up. If he doesn't work, he doesn't eat. It's been an adjustment, that's for certain, and at times it's been pretty rough. The way he sees it, whatever. He'll make ends meet. He ain't dead yet, right?

What was your character’s favorite toy as a child?

Let me start this part off by saying that childhood in Lolthite society is, by our standards, no childhood at all. From an early age they are expected to learn useful, functional skills and cold, hard truths. They're thrust right into adulthood. There is little room for frivolity in a drow child's life. The games they'd play and the toys they'd have would be more practical than fun -- they'd teach something valuable, like deduction and critical thinking and strategizing, or help build motor skills. They'd see no reason to try to disguise this as something more fun. Suck it up, buttercup, go learn how to get away with murder. (however, i imagine that if it had some other societal importance -- say, something that helped garner an appreciation for the symbols of Lolth -- that would also hold importance, even if it wasn't really practical).

Quil can remember playing what we'd call Cat's Cradle with silvered strings, and learning to play chess, and putting together three-dimensional puzzles. He vaguely remembers a fairly frivolous toy spider -- it had a spool of string inside attached to a ring that, when pulled, would unwind and then slowly spool up again. If you held the ring, it'd look like the spider was going back up its thread. He remembers liking it, but doesn't remember what happened to it, though.

He still has the chess set, however. He loves chess.

Describe a scenario in which your character feels most comfortable.

This one sort of has two sides.

Currently, Quil would think of himself as most comfortable sitting on a bench or a chair or even a low wall somewhere, where the sun is low and the sea is barely a stone's throw away and there's a gentle breeze blowing inland. He's in a city, a big one -- one of those places where there's so many people, you're invisible. No one's bothering him, no one's talking to him, he's just allowed to exist in peace.

The truth is, this isn't the most comfortable he could be, he just doesn't know it yet. The scene is very similar -- quiet evening in a big city, gentle breeze off the sea -- but instead of a bench or a wall, he's in a room on a second story with a big, open window and gauzy curtains, lying in a soft bed and nestled up against someone trusted and safe and well-loved. He can lay his head against his chest and look out at the sea and forget he's ever been anything but happy and safe and loved.

Has your character ever had a dependent figure who was not related to them?

Well, no, he hasn't. He may feel protectively toward Ophinia, but at the end of the day, she's known him for one day, and Quil has no plans of becoming a parent at this point in his life.

The only person who he ever would have considered a dependent was Luadiira. In mainstream drow society it's not uncommon for the task of raising younger children to fall in no small part on the older siblings, even among elite noble houses. They'd have tutors and whatnot but a lot of the real burden of child-rearing often goes to blood relatives, and since Matron Mothers are usually far too busy to deal with something like that, that means siblings, sometimes aunts and uncles. Ches'stra was a little more hands-on than many Matrons are, though that's not saying much, but for Quil, that task still mostly fell on his older sisters (though moreso on Iniara, thankfully), and when Luadiira was born he didn't want the same for her. He figured it wouldn't be as bad for her anyway, since she was also a sorcerer, but he didn't want to take the chance. He stepped in and took care of her more or less from the moment she was born.

#quil answers #honeyedflapjacks

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