#c: iphis nydalla
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oc in 15
tagged by @space-writes, thank you! picking Iphis because he talks So Much and also i love him
Rules: share 15 or fewer lines of dialogue from an OC, ideally lines that capture the character/personality/vibe of the OC. Bonus points for just using dialogue without other details about the scene, but you're free to include those as well!
no-pressure tagging @princeofhags @nightwardenminthara @selkieflesh @space-writes and @winterskulleton
Iphis Nydalla:
“You’re quite skilled with that weapon, but you’ll have to thrust harder to penetrate, my dear,” he teased, reveling in her irritated scoff.
“To read hundreds of pages about the lack of romantic competence time again,” Iphis smiled, and his Mistress swatted his fidgeting hand away, “have you always had the patience of a saint?”
“I take up that much residence in your mind?” Iphis laughs, keeping his voice a low purr. “Just say the word when you’re ready for another round, no use in drawing your blade with these less experienced foes.”
“Please, it’s my job to serve you, and if you keel over this House will resort to eating each other.”
“What. Are. You. Doing. Here.”
[...] “wouldn’t I look good in something you dressed me in?”
“My apologies for obstructing your productivity, dear Minnie.”
“Apparently switching in loaded Sava dice is not clever, but shameful.”
“Had this not been so draining, I’d ask if you’d like a more intimate meeting.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Is there any ailment that can’t be cured with a good broth?”, Iphis mused, “you always know how to care for me.”
“Well, it’s no use to me now that I don’t have enough hair to pin up. It suits you far better, anyway.” he shrugged off the trance, holding the clip out to her.
“If I must find another way to kill you, so be it.” Iphis growled, refusing to take his eyes off her as he stormed out of the room.
“Oh, well that’s unfair.”
“Do you also have phantoms, my dear?”
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OC takeover tag
tagged by @space-writes, thank you!
Rules: for any OCs you'd like, if they stole your phone and got on your tumblr blog, what would they do/post on it?
Iphis would freak out that there's someone who knows everything about him that he has no info on, so he's deleting everything in his and Minnie's tags, after that he's starting a personal quest to post the Most Infuriating Words for his own amusement
tagging @nightwardenminthara @selkieflesh @winterskulleton and @princeofhags
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Three Times Iphis Kissed Minisstra (and One Time She Kissed Him)
a little fic for @ockissweek, enjoy!
1.
The empty corridor provides a sweet sigh of privacy from the cacophony of the ballroom, and it was here Iphis has found himself against the wall, his back against cool polished stone and his chest soaking up Minisstra’s touch. His lips found hers in fervent desire- every whispered tease, incremental brushing of skin, exchanged glances of mutual craving had led to this: his Mistress stolen away from her party, holding him against the wall as a spider holds its silk-bound prey.
His gasps were swallowed by her as she laid claim to her boy, her teeth worrying his lip drew a whimper from his throat. She made a pleased sound of her own as her tongue explored every inch of his mouth, evidently liking the mix of the evening’s wine and desperation that resided there.
Iphis’ hand began to snake up her leg, fingertips trailing over exposed thigh as he silently praised the gods she wore this dress, the slit for allowing access to her skin, when he found his wrist pinned above his head.
“I don’t recall you having permission to touch,” Minisstra hissed, her ruby gaze stealing more breath from him than any kiss. “With how you’ve been all night, I’d say you’re begging to be punished.”
The promise of such shot a thrill down his spine as she dragged him further away from any witnesses.
2.
Minisstra was already in bed when Iphis had gone to change out of his day clothes, all tucked in with a faded and well-loved novel. One of her favorites, probably, and though he liked to jest about her questionable tastes, there was no denying her penchant for mediocre romance was endearing. He climbed under the covers beside her, flicking the chain holding her glasses.
“What stage are they at presently?”
“Still pining,” she said, “Vierna’s still reeling over the implications of last night.”
“To read hundreds of pages about the lack of romantic competence time again,” Iphis smiled, and his Mistress swatted his fidgeting hand away, “have you always had the patience of a saint?”
“I suppose it’s not so different to the antics of other matrons,” Minisstra shrugged. “Though these two are safer to observe. Besides, it’s more interesting than your straightforward erotica.”
“Oh, well that’s unfair.” Iphis scoffed in mock offense, and now she wore an arrogant smirk as she shut her novel. He leaned in for a kiss, both of them smiling into it as they settled into reverie.
3.
She’d underestimated Iphis’ willingness to commit to an attack, and in her foolish complacency blocking his short jabs she left her torso unguarded, giving him ample opportunity for another point. She sighed, knowing he would gloat in the rare moment of besting her.
“A special occasion, for you to wear a bruise from me.” he mused, because of course he would, “It’s usually I who bear the marks of your victory.”
“They’d be few in between if you focused less on terrible banter,” she retorted, and Iphis snickered as they sheathed blades.
“I score all the same.” he shrugged, closing the distance once more to deliver a kiss, drawing the match to an end.
+1.
The night’s real festivities kicked in as the music began to swell, and Minisstra found her boy in the crowd. Despite the throngs of people dripping opulence the task was quite easy, for there was no world in which she didn’t recognize Iphis.
Iphis saw her approach and extended his hand, letting her guide him to the dancefloor. There, they swayed in perfect time, every move in this routine painstakingly practiced and mastered. The music flowed through them as freely as blood as they put the other dancers to shame, for this was yet another subtle demonstration of their superiority.
Then came the final chorus, the moment Iphis’ trust in her mattered most. He wrapped an arm around her, flashing a small, assured smile. She returned the gesture, lifting him as if he weighed nothing, twirling feather-light before returning him to earth with a low dip.
Their lips met, and standing there, in his Mistress’ arms, surrounded by the clamor of applause, Iphis couldn’t care less if the whole room saw him blush.
#probably all im doing this week but i had a lot of fun#c: iphis nydalla#c: minisstra eradia nydalla#dungeons and dragons#fox's writing#ockiss24
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okay so i talked about being trans in menzo many moons ago and how the nydallas fared but ive thought about it more cause of course its more complex than what i wrote originally (this is what happens when you dive deeper into the fixation. you start retconning headcanons)
initally transitioning in menzo is incredibly difficult, not in the sense that magic items/rituals that change your body are barred from you (assuming you have the money for them, of course), but socially there's a lot of scrutiny and violence to avoid/overcome. Minisstra had to work twice as hard, be twice as brutal and fanatic just to prove her womanhood in her early adulthood. Iphis was frequently violently punished for dressing masculine, and his harassment only stopped when he had Minnie's protection.
even then, they only earned tolerance in Menzo because they fall into gender roles good enough. like, aside from their reputations being "anyone who misgenders me loses their head", there comes a point where most people realize despite their personal views, Iphis looks and acts like a male should, so being the only person calling him a female will just make them look crazy (same applies to Minnie in the other direction)
so yeah. thats the short of being openly trans in menzo; you only earn respect by overperfoming gender and showing people what happens when they fuck with you
#c: iphis nydalla#c: minisstra eradia nydalla#also important to note theyre the only ones who actively support each other vis a vis trans struggles#because the tolerance everyone pays them is more like throwing in the towel#“you proved your point and i wanna stay alive so sure. youre a man/woman”#the fox den
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To Be Loved Is To Be Changed
a trans slash fiction, featuring the Nydallas. special thanks to @hyenagirlbulge for the title, and @thespacelizard for the Drow language ideas. tw for transphobia
“Og’elend-vith!”
Spat out by his mother and chased by the hissing snake-headed whip after an unsuccessful attempt to slip past as his brother. Iphis’ breath drew thin as the serpents deposited venom into his veins. She’d whip him until he fell unconscious, no doubt, hoping when he awoke there would be no memory of the desire to rebel.
“I did not raise a heretic. I did not raise a cross-dresser!”
The whip cracked, fangs lodging into his skin as Iphis cried out. Gritting his teeth, he braced for another strike. He didn’t expect her to be up so late, nor any impending threats that would warrant casting out her senses to catch interlopers. That bastard brother of his must have sold him out. If he survives this, Xashin will suffer all this and tenfold.
The whip rested still in Matron Kilth’s hand for a moment, its snakes writhing in anticipation. Then, with a voice of ice shards, she asked:
“Have I made myself clear?”
She could strike him dead, track down his soul where the Infinite Web hung and find wanting for his compliance. Perhaps it was the wine, or Miss Nydalla’s attention, for his poisoned blood sang with bravery.
“As clear as I’ve made my name to you.”
The whip cracks, fangs pierce his skin, and Iphis hears one last snarl as everything goes dark.
“Your name is Nephila. You will honor it as you honor Lloth.”
—
It was shortly after his rebirth that Iphis would find himself treated to a new wardrobe. Before now he got away on whatever his brother wouldn’t miss, which hung awkwardly over his frame. The majority of clothes shopping was complete, but his Mistress saved the best for last. He kept his eyes shut as instructed while she dressed him.
Being able to only feel her made his head swim tenfold, fine-tuning his nerves as he was left to hope she wore that pleased expression.
Two taps to his bicep signaled to raise his arms as Minisstra slid the sleeves of his shirt through, and Iphis didn’t have to see to know she would leave just enough unbuttoned to show the violet and blue splotches of her ownership.
Her palms trailed over his chest once more, smoothing out any imperfections as he failed to suppress a shiver when they dipped slightly too low. With an arm around his lower back, she guided him to the grand floor-length mirror.
“Now, Ra’soltha, you may open your eyes.”
As he did, Iphis felt warmth, strange yet not unpleasant, spreading to the tips of his ears. He drank in the sight of Minisstra’s work; a new shirt, one that hugged his frame, flattering rather than hiding it, made for his height and proportions with sleeves that didn’t need to be rolled up, but looked damn good when done so.
It was sleek and dark as her kept widows, embroidered with delicate white flowers climbing the front. Small moths hovered near the blossoms, their blue wings glinting with hints of silver thread.
“This is your artistry?”
Minisstra nodded, “I needed a model for my work, and you serve as a fine doll.”
Iphis traced the pattern, glowing at the worth he’d earned to wear such a perfect thing, that it looked perfect on him. “It’s gorgeous,” he whispered, “thank you, Mistress.”
“Any excuse to show that you’re mine,” she smiled, her hands finding his hips as he leaned in, and she pulled him closer, and Iphis was forever pleased to have a life expertly intertwined with hers.
—
It’s the word carved into Minisstra’s door during her time at Arach-Tinilith. The culprit was easy enough to find, was foolish enough to snicker as she walked by. She stopped, caught the young woman’s eye. “I assume you left a message for me?”
The accused met her gaze, unflinching. “And if your assumptions proved correct? What is someone like you going to do?”
“Why do you ask, if you could settle a confrontation from someone like me without breaking a sweat?”
“And do you have a place in mind for such airings?” a question that was not a question, a last opportunity for Minisstra to back down.
“I do.” Minisstra held her stare in an iron lock. “I’m sure you know your way around the school's caverns, the lower levels will provide seclusion for our little chat.”
To Minisstra’s heated delight, she found her opponent waiting at the proposed location. She kept her smile internal; it was important to keep the illusion of her opponent having the upper hand. The only sound to echo from her across the near-forgotten cavern was the hiss of an unsheathed blade.
To the novice’s credit, she proved a worthy effort with each swing of her blade. Minisstra parried again and again, allowing herself to be backed against a wall. Once her opponent closed in, she countered with a languid slash that forced the priestess back. From there it was easy to knock the sword from her hand, and as she stumbled, Minisstra forced her on her back, keeping her prone on the ground with her foot digging into the novice’s ribs.
“Now,” she smiled coldly, “you shall die in shame, proving your training insufficient for a female.”
She watched crimson eyes widen in anger, then fear, before glazing over as her blade sliced across her throat.
—
A banquet hosted by a higher ranked House, an event that would call for Minisstra and Iphis to be on their best behavior. The task proved easy, save for a few distinct glances from the other guests, and relief drifted through a brief window as the night seemingly carried itself on the harmony of a bard’s tune.
That was until Iphis caught ill-timed jeers on the wind.
“I heard Matron Nydalla made an appearance with her new consort.”
“That false Matron found a freak to match?”
“Og’elend-viths, the both of them. To think they’ve earned an ounce of the city’s respect.”
“I suppose.” The males exchanged laughter, volume a decibel too high for their own good.
The unspoken rules of more public banquets were to never poison a fellow guest, as this gathering was a delicacy of neutral ground. Still, addressing a grievance with a fellow guest was not entirely barred, so long as no one had to inspect their food.
Iphis rose from his seat, using the table runner as his catwalk as he sauntered over to the disrespectful lesser nobles. Keeping his posture relaxed and expression smooth as carved ice, he let the swash-buckle of his scabbard and the scrambling of lifted plates from either side of the table be his only warnings.
He stood in front of his critics now, the table’s platform joining heeled boots in a marriage of high ground.
The two jesters paled as their eyes locked with Iphis’ constructed gaze of intrigue as he spoke,
“My apologies, it appears the message for me and my Matron was lost in the crosstalk. Would you mind repeating yourselves?”
The males stuttered as more eyes fell on them. Iphis rested his hand on the sword’s hilt.
“Please, take a moment to compile your thoughts. I’d hate for there to be a misunderstanding.” He let their stunned silence ring out before tilting his head.
“Was it not worth repeating?” his eyes narrowed. “If so, I’d like to return to my meal.”
The remainder of dinner carried on two voices quieter.
—
Night came to Menzoberranzan, its late hours a protective shroud for the rare vulnerability between the matron and her consort. Iphis stared distantly at the ceiling, his gaze casting a peculiar contemplation.
“Something keeping you up?” Minisstra asked, to which Iphis responded with a small nod. He sighed, voice light enough to dance across a silk strand undetected.
“Do you ever pause to wonder if the remarks thrown at us bear any truth?”
“Which remarks?”
“How we have betrayed not only our fellow drow, but the natural order? That by rebelling against our bodies, are also traitors to Lloth?”
He turns his head toward her, studies the certainty carved into her face, smooth as the obsidian figures positioned in churches and fountains.
“If that is true, She would have made her displeasure known to the house long ago. She would have favored every drow willing to test us, and they would still live, and we’d have been no more.”
“You’re confident to believe there is no impending punishment?”
She cups his hand in hers, draws circles in his flesh with her thumb. “Lloth Herself takes many forms. If we’re made in Her image, how would our actions be treacherous?”
“Haven’t we shed that image?” His question beckons a small smile from her.
“Is a spider denouncing her mother when she molts?”
He pauses, turns the question over in his mind. Lloth’s children shed their skin, breaking from their former selves stronger, more beautiful, more complete. Could the same be said about them?
His hands absently trace the webbing of scars on his chest. “I suppose, we are Lloth’s children as much as any spider. I can’t see why you wouldn’t be right.”
“I studied Lloth’s doctrine for fifty years, I feel Her power coursing through me with every decision made as Matron. Of course I’m right.” She punctuates with a chaste peck to Iphis’ lips.
“Goodnight, lince’sa.”
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oc picrew tag
tagged by @space-writes ty!
rules: make your oc using this picrew. there's technicolor skin tones and pointy ears/horns for all your fantasy needs!
i have way too many characters so i narrowed it down to 3, here's Iphis, Chen and Fae!
gently tagging @foxgirldick @hyenagirlbulge @princeofhags @nightwardenminthara
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character voice tag
tagged by @space-writes and given the prompt "That's so unfair!"
Rules: Rewrite the line of dialogue from the person who tagged you into the voice of your OC’s! (You can include a short beat of action to help establish character if you want.) Pass on the tag with a new line of dialogue.
tagging @selkieflesh @nightwardenminthara and @darkseldarine with the dialogue "Say that again?"
Faeryl: "Ugh! That's like, so not cool, why would you do that?"
Minisstra: "How charming, you think I would let that happen. Now, listen to how it's actually going to work."
Chena'stra: "Really?" she glares, crosses her arms. "After putting up with all this bullshit, this is what I get in return?"
Iphis: "See, my dear, I don't think either of us want to see what happens when I don't get my way. I'll let you correct this mistake-quickly now, clock's ticking."
#howl “20 wisdom” willowstep understands that life isnt fair so thats why theyre not included#being bitchy over not getting your way has to be a drow thing. at least w mine#c: iphis nydalla#c: minisstra eradia nydalla#c: chena'stra frival#c: faeryl drathir'knif#fox's writing
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4 & 6 for my beloved nydallas for the oc suffering questions
i wont lie this ask games essentially a cardboard box trap for you
4. How do they feel about sparing women and children if given the choice? Do they value certain lives over others?
i answered Iphis' feelings here so lets get into Minnie's
she also believes that sparing any lives is a weakness and unwise since she's so dependent on Lolth's favor, and unlike Iphis she's disconnected from the gravity of her murders because her brain works in a brutally straightforward way. rival Houses meddling in her affairs is a Problem, eradicating them is the Solution, there's little room to care about the nuances of drow lives.
Minisstra values the lives of her family and, however temporary, those of people she's currently using in a given scheme. the latter is more of a necessity, though; anyone caught in her web gains enough protection for her to continue her plot, then they're ultimately disposed of.
6. How far would they go to save someone they love? Would they sacrifice themselves? Others?
a loved one's life on the line is actually one of the occasions either of them will get directly involved with someone's death, and weighing the consequences of so obviously murdering someone takes a backseat. thats a problem future them will solve together.
there's no doubt they'll sacrifice others to save each other, given how expendable non-Nydallas are. if it's someone else from their House, it'll still be done, but it's a weight on their consciences.
Iphis would be more likely to sacrifice himself than Minisstra, he believes she could survive without him, but she knows he can't without her. avenging Iphis would do more of a service than leaving him to fend for himself in Menzo, according to Minnie's way of thinking.
you fucked up a perfectly good oc is what you did. look at it. it's got a mile long walk in closet full of skeletons
#in-fox#c: iphis nydalla#c: minisstra eradia nydalla#also she would Not be fine without iphis#her being left alive without him is the nightmare scenario#theyre so tangled together they simply cant survive alone anymore#very normal couple. very healthy amount of dependency as you can see
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totally not imagining iphis dressed like one of the bladesingers. not imagining him in a purple off the shoulder top with the silver decals and how little it covers. and he wouldn't have little bells on an anklet or anything....no
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val and iphis side 2
inspired by @nightwardenminthara's drabble, thank you again for bringing these awful boys together. Val's pov can be read here!
Every noble worth their salt attended the gladiator arenas, some of them going as far to sponsor the fighters. The act of watching was a bloodsport on its own- whether a House placed bets or funded a gladiator directly, there was always more to the exchange than pocket money and jewels.
For House Nydalla, the coffers tossed at the male currently parading around the arena was sweetener to the pot.
Iphis shifted in his seat as he watched the match come to an end. The sword-bard Valztefein had the younger male cornered, the tip of his blade pressed against his throat. He tosses a glance toward the audience, voice rolling over in a strike of thunder:
“What do you think? Shall I finish him or let our newcomer get another chance?”
Playing with his food. Had Iphis seen his earlier matches he would’ve rooted for him sooner. The loser sputters something, and Valztefein twirls his rapier once more.
“What was that? I don’t think we heard you. Speak up, now.”
It was a crime their high seats came with the disadvantage of the figures appearing so small. To see the fear on the male’s face would’ve been a real treat.
“It seems our dear fresh-faced fighter has lost his tongue.” Val pushes his heel into his opponent’s gut, “Louder.”
Oh Valztefein, have you always been such a tease?
Fond memories flooded the consort’s mind of their own sparring matches, gods bless the art of fencing. He’s surprised the male begs louder, that Val hasn’t yet driven the rapier tip through his windpipe. His pleas echo throughout the stadium, an adorable sound when one thinks about it. He’s lucky there’s only one drow in the pit; the audience has made their views on him mercilessly clear.
Still, the victor continues his taunt:
“I must admit, I’ve always been soft. His appeal truly is touching, don’t you agree?”
Choruses of cheers and boos spill from the stands, and Iphis shakes his head in amusement.
“Ah, that is true. It wouldn’t do to let someone off so easy, simply because it’s their first match.” an ending flourish before Valztefein shoves the blade into the loser’s hand, his scream and the sweet crunching of bone carrying through the air. Who knew there were so many ways to write a melody?
Val pulls the rapier out of the crushed hand, kicks the mangled foe in the ribs. Salt in the wound. “Never let it be said I am not merciful. The lad will live to fight another day.”
With that, he turns toward the crowd, soaking in the cheers as a drunk absorbs his wine. From this angle, Iphis can see his face more clearly. Bright eyes meet his own, and the bard’s smile deepens as he dedicates this last bow to him. He probably couldn’t see Iphis’ grin, but the sentiment should reach him all the same.
—-
Assuring his Mistress he’d catch up with her soon enough, he caught Val in the throngs of exiting spectators. The champion wiped his sweat-slick brow, trying his best to look relaxed.
“Enjoy the show, Nydalla?” he asked, crimson eyes drinking in every inch of him. Charming, the male was, almost enough to make Iphis forget the strange feeling of being called by his House name. That belonged to his Mistress, not him. Still, he played along.
“Quite so; always a treat to bear witness to your sword.”
“All I could think of with every thrust and parry of my blade was our own play at dueling.” Val’s fixated gaze is less subtle than the flirt. “You were truly a more… thrilling opponent.”
“I take up that much residence in your mind?” Iphis laughs, keeping his voice a low purr. “Just say the word when you’re ready for another round, no use in drawing your blade with these less experienced foes.”
Val had to be the most vibrant plaything Iphis had in some time, the only one to match his energy in sparring and provide excellent tension.
In another life you would’ve made a fine companion, sweet Valztefein.
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val would begin with the intention of also trying to gather intel/do his own honeypot. but he's got enough conflicted feelings about his patroness to accidentally show his hand and indeed... get worse
them pulling honeypots like uno reverses dnsvnagb his conflicted feelings about his patroness would be too juicy for them to resist playing on them, they're totally giving him everything she won't. once he shows his hand they could just lean in like "i know what you're trying, if you value your life you'll continue to help me :)"
also i gotta know how Val's feelings upon seeing Iphis being a favored consort. there's some parallels there im poking at
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oc in 3
tagged by @nightwardenminthara, ty! how could i get away with not doing Menzo's worst consort, Iphis?
Rules: Post three pictures or images you feel relate to a character. They can be face claims, famous artworks, photos, or anything you think fits the Vibe™
no pressure tagging @selkieflesh and @winterskulleton
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fox i have decided to bother you for storyteller saturday this week, bc modern au obedience has destroyed my brain, and im sure you've posted *something* about it before, but i want to inflict modern au Nydalla's on you. because. ruthless businesswoman Minisstra...
that's all i've got but you know. i am. Contemplating
(pretend there's a question in here somewhere)
i posted something abt modern au Nydallas and tbh i havent come up with much else other than Vibes but heres some more bullet points for you:
Iphis is somewhere in his mid 20s and Minnies in her mid 40s
the times either of them were recovering from surgery were hell for other internet users. the amount of rancid drama a single tranny stuck on the couch can manifest is astronomical
Minisstras fashion is p much all sleek black dresses with silver jewelry
just swap the rise and fall of Menzo Houses with like...the stock exchange and thats what theyre constantly freaking out over
she'd text like an Old Lady with some modern slang/memes jarringly thrown in based on whatever Iphis recently explained to her. like how does she know what hot girl summer means
Iphis is just getting into trouble and hooking up with various people while shes at work
his phone is just full of those texts like "wow there's nothing i like about you" "tell me more~" "this isnt sexting" "its better than sexting". youve seen those compilations im sure. insufferable man
@hyenagirlbulge's stellar addition: Iphis is a Harvard business school dropout
bonus: Iphis' tumblr would probably be something like spiderboyhole bc i think its funny. its all black and purple aesthetic selfies. hes been banned multiple times for starting fights and being too horny for tumblr
i get what you said about vivien bc when you take the spider mommy death cult indoctrination out theyre like....So Much Worse
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romantic snippet
tagged by @space-writes, ty! this is the first romantic thing ive written in a while because i took up @flufftober's spring challenge. who says sparring isn't romantic?
Their swords clashed again and again, and Iphis went for a full lunge, hoping to throw his opponent off her rhythm. Minisstra was quicker, however, as she swept her cloak over herself to block his maneuver. Using the closed distance to her advantage, she hooked an ankle around Iphis’, sending him stumbling.
He smirked as he regained his footing. “Oh, Mistress,” he breathed, the awful banter part of his mind somehow far from exerted, "You know it takes more to force me to my knees.”
gently tagging @foxgirlplushie and @nightwardenminthara
#this fic is pretty far from my comfort zone so idk how passable the fencing stuff is#that being said there are many benefits to dating a fencer :p ty chaos#c: iphis nydalla#c: minisstra eradia nydalla#fox's writing
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last line tag
tagged by @space-writes, ty!
here's the last line of tomorrow's fic, and what do you know, its everyone's favorite t4t drow
There, they sipped and talked before curling up and submitting to reverie’s pull.
no-pressure tagging @hyenagirlbulge @nightwardenminthara @princeofhags
#me 🤝 space constantly trying to read whole fics early#c: iphis nydalla#c: minisstra eradia nydalla#fox's writing
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one year, post mortem
On the anniversary of his pact, Iphis receives a visitor.
The day that marked his first year as Iphis was like any other. Heat climbed the tower of Narbondel, its light signaling the beginning of a new day, and with it rose the city’s usual bustle. This morning, Iphis blinked sleep from his eyes and looked around.
Minisstra had left earlier that morning, as apparent to her side of the bed in pristine shape, the standard for everything in her chambers. As Iphis dressed, he couldn’t shake the thought of something being out of the ordinary. Surely, there was something about today he’d forgotten. As he dressed, he found his fingers trailing over the scars that adorned his chest.
Deep violet scar tissue woven in a spiderweb right under his pectorals. Time had eased the sensitivity of his skin, care had smoothed its texture, but unlike those earned through physical injury, Keptolo’s signature refused to fade, even after a year.
It had been a year since the ritual, hadn’t it. Iphis paused for a moment, glanced down at his chest. Excitement and pride kindled inside him, something he hadn’t felt since he was little. He pulled on a shirt and smoothed out those emotions along with the wrinkles. Today was just another day for him, as drow males did not celebrate birthdays.
As he gazed into the mirror, another figure froze him in place. Behind him stood a lilac-skinned female, her silhouette poured into a dress that flowed like the depths of the coldest sea. With her hair pinned back, Iphis had a clear view of her face, and his head swam at the realization it was identical to his.
One year since he’d shed the skin of Nephila Kilth, and yet here she was, the image of her constricting his throat and locking his limbs in place. Closing his eyes, he shuddered an exhale, and turned around. Iphis had no idea what he was thinking, how that would dispel this wicked image, for she was still there when he opened his eyes.
“What are you doing here?” he gasped out, to no response. He cleared his throat, summoning strength back into his voice.
“What. Are. You. Doing. Here.” Again, the girl was silent, but her pale eyes bore down at him, indicating that she could hear. Iphis did not appreciate the cold study of those blue eyes, in fact at that moment he wanted nothing more than to carve them out. As he tried to grapple her, however, he stumbled right through the other drow.
Stranger still, interacting with the illusory girl hadn’t dispelled her. Iphis’ brow furrowed as Nephila quirked one of her own. The slight tilt of her head sparked embarrassment that smoldered into contempt. She had the audacity to appear a year later, and judge his actions?
“If I must find another way to kill you, so be it.” Iphis growled, refusing to take his eyes off her as he stormed out of the room.
For the remainder of the morning, it’d seemed that Nephila was left behind in his Matron’s chambers. Iphis relaxed; whatever caused these visions must have been the remnants of a dream, gone now he was fully awake.
Or so he thought, until it came time for fencing exercises. For being a talented swordsman trained under Matron Nydalla herself, Iphis’ sparring that afternoon was no better than a child’s-mirroring Nephila by the weapon rack. He missed a critical parry as his eye was drawn to the girl’s playing, resulting in the sword being knocked from his hand and a frustrated Mistress.
“You,” she huffed, thrusting the rapier’s hilt back into his hand, “have shown a stunning lack of focus today. Please explain what’s got your attention so much it’s replaced your basic knowledge of form.”
Iphis sighed, glaring daggers at Nephila. She paid no mind to him, just as before, which kicked his anger to a rolling boil. Minisstra followed his gaze and, after a pause,
“What are you looking at?”
“Her,” Iphis exclaimed, “Nephila, she’s over there swinging her sword like it’s a toy. She’s made a mess of the weapon rack and-”
A firm hand on his shoulder stopped his ranting. Daring to look at Minisstra, he found a wave of concern-then, strangely, understanding- had drowned her previous frustration.
“You see Nephila”, she said softly, after some time. “How long has she haunted you?”
“Since this morning.” he answered, and since he was unable to hide his puzzled tone, Iphis swallowed and asked,
“Do you also have phantoms, my dear?”
Minisstra nodded, “Sometimes, I see my old Matron.” she took a breath upon seeing his eyes widen. In all the time he’s known her, Iphis would never have suspected her capable of feeling any terror, if her visions were anything like his.
“How do you manage?”, his next inquiry, a desperate plea for how to prevent the unraveling of his mind.
“I deprive her of what she craves. I pay her no mind,” she answered. “If your ghost is anything like mine, she feeds off attention. Ignore her, and she’ll disappear for some time.”
Iphis nodded, now feeling more assertive than he had all day. Minisstra’s advice may only be for a temporary fix, but he was grateful for any sliver of relief.
Nephila was sent to torture him, but two could play at that game.
#c: iphis nydalla#c: minisstra eradia nydalla#c: nephila kilth#fox's writing#hey look! its done! half a year later
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