#i just like half orcs and wanted to draw one! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thatfreshi · 8 months

Note

I was wondering if you could write Astarion having to tend to a very cuddly drunk female Tav. Possibly having to defend her from other people trying to take advantage of her.

This took me on a very sad adventure

TW - blood and gore, attempted sexual assault, drinking

Recommended Song: Drew Barrymore - SZA

The nice thing about no longer being on wild adventures full of tadpoles and cultists is that you and Astarion can go out drinking like normal people. While your vampiric lover thoroughly enjoys a good glass of wine, he usually stops himself at one. Perhaps he's a little paranoid about you, your safety, but he insists not to have more than one when the two of you are out together. At the house? Sure, he'll finish two bottles with you, the two of you drunkenly laughing by the fireplace, but not when danger could be afoot. You try to tell him he's just anxious, tense, that you'll be alright.

"I'd rather just make sure my love. You indulge all you want darling, I'll be fine."

In one of the more rowdy taverns, you and Astarion sit at a table off to the side, watching people get drunk and dance, bumping into strangers, sometimes fights ensue. As per usual, he nurses his singular glass. You look at him, a gleam of sadness in your eyes.

"Are you sure you don't mind? I can just skip out tonight, maybe we can just drink later, when we get back."

"Nonsense, have your fun my sweet. I insist."

You squeeze his hand.

"Alright then, I'm off to get my second... you can tell me to stop anytime!"

You tease as you slowly walk away, almost backing up into a nearby half-orc. He simply smiles at you, one of those smiles that says everything he's thinking, how he thinks you're precious, how he'd gladly never get drunk again if it meant keeping you. Years ago, he would've never given up a vice for some person. But you, you make this feeling well up in his chest, like he has to hold you close at all times, worried someone will snatch you when he's not looking. You may make fun of him for simply being a paranoid person, but you made it a million times worse.

"I'm back!"

Your voice draws out, and you return with two mugs of beer instead of just the one.

"Already going for three darling? You do remember you're a lightweight, right?"

"I'll be fine. Besides, Mr. Knight in Shining Armor is here to take me home if I throw up on someone."

You lie against his arm, starting on your second drink.

"You did eat before we left the house, right my sweet?"

You look up at him silently. He just sighs, running his hand through your hair.

"Then why did you need to go to the kitchen before we left?"

You giggle a little.

"To... pre-game!"

The laughter rings out of your throat as Astarion sighs, again, more annoyed this time.

"So you're telling me-"

"Already gettin' drunk Aster, it's a great time."

The more and more you talk, the more he realizes your words are becoming more slurred. Perhaps he should've asked before you left, made sure you at least grabbed a bite.

"Alright, you stay right here, I'm going to get you some water and a little snack."

He gets up, swiftly grabbing the two mugs off the table while you protest.

"Hey, I wasn't done with those!"

As Astarion makes his way to the bar, asking for the classic drunkard's care package, he's suddenly nervous. Had you ever been this drunk in public before? Maybe the two of you should just go home, before you somehow get your hands on any more alcohol. After thanking the barkeep for the water and some bread, he comes back through the crowd, and sure enough you have left the table.

"Gods damn it Tav."

After setting down what was supposed to be your little pick-me-up, Astarion quickly moves through the groups of people, knowing you probably just got up to dance. The bard playing tonight was quite excellent after all. However, after looking through most of the common space, you're nowhere to be found. That feeling of panic starts to well up inside of him, where he's only driven by fear. He knows you can't be far, but he also knows most of the tavern-goers here are slimy, horrific people looking for their next bag of gold. Walking through the crowd again, Astarion comes near the back entrance, and hears a conversation down one of the abandoned hallways.

"A gal like you, surprised you're here alone."

He rounds the corner, seeing you and a bulky half-elf, your arms pinned above your head. You seem nervous, but not conscious enough to realize anything is truly wrong. Astarion stalks up behind the wretched man, wrapping his dagger around the half-elf's throat.

"No so alone anymore, are we?"

Your captor surprisingly doesn't stand down.

"You won't do shit. People know me around here, important people, they'd surely have your head if something happened to me."

"Not if I hide your body well enough. And trust me, I have experience."

The two of them are un-moving for a moment as your wrists start to go numb from the pressure. You groan in pain, only causing the half-elf to grab you tighter. As Astarion goes to press his blade into the man's neck, he whips around, pushing Astarion back. Gods, he's tall. You fall back against the wall, trying to nurse the pain in your hands. As Astarion and the stranger fight, you hear the sounds of blades colliding, but your head is spinning. Perhaps he was right about the whole 'eat before you drink' thing.

You're interrupted from your thoughts when you hear a loud thump on the floor. The half-elf almost knocked Astarion out. leaving him on the ground. The stranger then turns back to you, lifting you back up from the floor, going to open the back door.

"What a find. Can't wait to enjoy you."

In that moment, while trying to get his bearings, Astarion realizes this wasn't just someone threatening you, and that disgusting feeling fills his stomach. He remembers how many times he shared his body against his will, and the adrenaline of that anger is enough to get him back on his feet. As you and the half-elf make it out the door, Astarion rushes him, tripping one foot out from under him. And then he drives his blade into the stranger's back, again, and again, and again, and again, and again. He's covered in the sinner's blood, shaking with both rage and misery. The violent display helped sober you up just a little, enough to make you realize that Astarion has killed someone behind the bar, and that it was clearly deserved. He looks up, locking eyes with you, still holding his blade down, as if the dead man needs yet another plunging strike in his back.

"Astarion?"

You ask, your voice full of uncertainty, the past few minutes still a blur. He begins to cry, putting his dagger in the ground, slowly crawling over to where you've ended up on the ground. He holds you tight, almost to the point of pain. He doesn't say anything, and you simply watch the blood pour out of the man's corpse as he grips you tight. Flooding memories cover every space of his mind, seduction, imprisonment, and most of all, Cazador's death.

"Astarion... you're hurting my arm."

You say softly, not fully aware of just how distraught he is, still far too inebriated. You're sad though, because he's sad, and you can't quite put together why. He lets go, wrapping his arms under his legs, crying into his knees. You try to comfort him, despite your state.

"It's okay, it's over now."

You don't even know what's over, but if someone is dead and Astarion is still alive, he must've ended it.

"I know."

He chokes out those two pathetic words, looking back up at you.

"We need to leave."

The survival instinct kicks in, knowing he can't explain why this man has at least five stab wounds in his back. The second one of the bartenders finds this, it'll be over.

"Come, this way, we're going to take the back alley."

Snatching up your arm, Astarion leads you through the darkness, mumbling things to himself that you can't quite hear. The two of you move quickly through the night as you stumble around behind him. When the two of you get home, he gets you some water, leading you upstairs so you can lie down.

"Are you okay?"

Such an innocent question. He knows you'll remember tomorrow, that it's not like you're blacked out or anything, just confused.

"I'll be fine my dove. Get some rest now, it's alright."

It's as if he's trying to convince himself, but it's enough for you in your drunken stupor. You curl up into the heavy blanket cast across the bed, and he leaves a kiss on your head. Not long after, you're drifting off to sleep, exhausted.

As Astarion makes his way to the bathroom, he thinks of the horrific things that could've happened, of how cruel humanity is. He thinks about how you have to be the only truly good person in all of Faerûn. He'll never get all the blood off his face, not while you're asleep. His mirror, his sun, his everything, and you were almost tainted the very same way he was.

When you wake up the next morning, Astarion isn't in bed. You try to reach out groggily, looking for that embrace, only to be left with cold sheets. Thinking back on the night before, the memories start to filter in. The drinks, the half-elf, the stabbing, and Astarion sobbing. The full picture isn't entirely there, but there's enough pieces for you to realize. That man, he found you drunk in the tavern, and tried to take advantage of you.

You stumble out of bed, walking down the stairs, rubbing your eyes.

Astarion is in the kitchen, drinking some tea, his eyes bloodshot. You don't say anything, slowly walking up to him, wrapping your arms around his waist, holding him tight. He puts his tea down and rests his head on yours.

"Are you alright my love?"

"I'm fine. Are you alright?"

You make some space again, looking up at him, holding his hands in yours. They start to shake again, rage and misery. You move a piece of hair out of his face.

"He didn't do anything to me love, I'm okay."

"Just- the thought of- I-"

He tries to hold back the tears again.

"It's okay, you can cry. It's going to be okay."

With that allowance, the permission to let go, he cries again.

"I don't ever want you to feel like that Tav, the way I felt. It's so, disgusting."

"I know, but it's over Aster. It's over now. You're okay, we're okay."

You wrap around him again, and he continues to weep.

"I love you, so much, and they didn't ruin you, I promise."

That worry, that he'll never be the same, that he's forever fractured now, that a piece of him is gone. Innocence, what a loaded word. Those who are guilty make the innocent feel guilty, and those who are guilty feel powerful, and the cycle continues, always continuing. You stand in the kitchen for a long time, letting him get all of the pain out, your shirt sleeve wet with his tears.

"I just wish I didn't have to be scared anymore."

You frown, thinking on his statement, knowing that no one is ever truly safe. You'll both live in fear forever, of those that think cruelty is accomplishment.

"I know."

It's all you can say, because you can't lie and tell him there's a day he won't have to be scared, that one day all the monsters of the world will be gone. There's nothing to learn, no moral, no mistake to fix, just pain. Pain caused by those who greed after anguish.

"Do you think I've changed? Or am I just as I was, a scared, beaten slave?"

"Gods Astarion, of course you've changed. It's the world that hasn't. We're better than them though, even if that's all we have."

Neither of you reach any resolution, nothing that makes you feel better. Instead, you sit on the sofa by the fire, watching the wood go up in flames, softly speaking about the suffering. You lie in each other's arms, sad. Misery loves company, and the two of you sit in that aura of grieving for a long time, grieving his past, grieving what could have been a kinder world. But here, in this sacred space, where feelings are free to run wild, where you can cry as much as you need, that's the only place you're truly safe. And that's alright, as long as it's together.

#astarion x reader #astarion x tav #baldurs gate astarion #astarion #comfort #angst #baldur's gate 3

716 notes · View notes

geezmarty · 7 months

Note

ooo what inspired your tav design? like did you go in with a specific character in mind, or did it come from playing around with the character maker?

Oh boy ok. You’re about to find out just how insane I get over RPG character creation. “marty you don’t have to disclose it” I can’t believe you guys are forcing me to do this.

SO, I actually started bg3 with another character entirely, a ghityanki bard, which I thought would be fun and for a bit it was! But I wasn’t feeling crazy about her and when I play an RPG I love to turn my PC into a proper OC I can be obsessed with, so I restarted the game and before I went to character creation I literally sat down with a sketchbook and started brainstorming.

I wanted my pc to have an aesthetic of her own separate from the main companions but I also wanted her to blend in with the rest of the cast, I went for dark urge bc I heard that it gives you a personal quest and I landed for half drow and wild magic sorcerer, which is another class no major companion has (and also, I’ve always wanted to play wild magic even in regular dnd and this was a nice excuse to!)

Her aesthetic pretty much came up as I was sketching her and thinking about all the info above, what could set her apart but still feel like she could blend in? And most importantly, what would be fun for ME to draw? And so I went for witchy goth woman and luckily the design I sketched was very easy to reproduce in the character creator - and the rest came up organically as I drew more of her.

(I also named her after my very first dnd character Brigha, a half orc warlock, and it’s only after I finalized her design that I realized I’d borrowed some elements from hers eheh)

Witch goth was especially fun to play with bc I feel like most companions have a goth vibe about them but we’re missing the mean, spooky, feminine witch archetype (yes, morrigan from dao was part of the inspiration I love my wife <3). You could argue that Gale sort of fills the witch role already but I feel like they stand very nicely at opposite ends of the witch spectrum which is also fun considering their wizard-sorcerer one sided animosity.

#I think the only thing I didn’t manage to land on with her #is that as the supposed protagonist she doesn’t really feel like the “leader” of the group much.#But I kind of like that cause it matches the vibe of an IRL d&d party #anyway ty for the question!! I love talking about this sort of thing

175 notes · View notes

artsekey · 5 months

Text

A few people asked me to post this Eldritch Anthology comic in full, but it needed a little context, so!

My DM asked me to draw Casimir and his sister Dosia as villains for fun, and -- with my chronic storyteller brain -- I started imagining how that might come to pass or what it might look like.

In the comic below, Tao (the half-orc here) is a cleric of the Morninglord & traveled through Barovia with Casimir a few years prior to this comic. Tao, Casimir, and Borivoj (Borivoj is not pictured here, but you can spot them in some of my other comics) felled Strahd and freed Barovia, and then went on to help other settlements in the area before parting ways.

Casimir and Dosia are both members of the Czarn family, a monarchy that was dethroned and expelled from the country of the same name after their father, Emhyr, was found to be experimenting with dark magic. It's their goal to reclaim their home, and in this instance, they're willing to use any means necessary.

Dosia is Casimir's little sister, who he'll do just about anything for. Casimir, as we've learned throughout the course of our D&D game, is one of the Amber Temple's dark powers incarnate. So, if Dosia wants the throne back... well, she'll get it!

Comic is Tao hearing about the state of Czarn, where he left lil' Casimir and Dosia a while back.

#dungeons and dragons #dnd #comic #blob boy #kind of a blob boy au i guess!#or maybe not... 👀#nah hopefully he'll see where the line is for violence and force and we'll get a good ending lol #Local Teenage God Needs to Learn Restraint

119 notes · View notes

noordzee · 7 months

Text

I've found myself DMing a homebrew Dungeons and Dragons game for a chaotic group of mostly middle schoolers and millennials and also the local pastor. Finally I have a use for all those characters I created a few Inktobers ago!

Our first adventure was a """one-shot""" I wrote for my siblings a little while back, in which Our Heroes help Nanny Hulda find her son, who got lost in the Dark Crystal Pyramid in the woods outside their village. Along the way they were supposed to explore a room with a mummy, but one of the kids decided to kick a flaming barrel of rum down the shaft that led to the room, and I was amused enough by this that the next session (yeah the one-shot took like 3 or 4 sessions to complete) I introduced the ghost of the mummy they were supposed to fight, if only he hadn't been blown to smithereens. The kids were so immediately charmed by this silent grumpy ghost that they adopted him into the team and may be starting a cult in his honor.

At first my screen was just some cardboard with character cards awkwardly taped to the top, but that wasn't Enough for me, I wanted More. So I designed a new screen to look like a castle, complete with stained glass windows that double as character card displays! The banners along the top of the wall are initiative markers: I had players draw an insignia representing their character on the front, while the back side has important stats written in dry erase marker on tape, so I can edit them on the fly.

Now our chaotic band is headed into Kypree Swamp, where they've met three bullywugs (they did not care for one but attempted to adopt the other two) and the grouchy half-orc Lilòia, who I was worried would get called Shrek but was immediately dubbed The Duchess. Completely unpredictable, these kids. I've included all the character cards I've done for both campaigns, even the ones nobody's met yet, because only two of my players follow my tumblr--one of whom is my partner and saw me drawing them already anyway haha

Descriptions and names in the alt text! Please do not use my characters for your own games.

#dungeons and dragons #artists on tumblr #crafts #illustration #copic markers #ink

70 notes · View notes

esta-elavaris · 6 months

Text

Flufftober Day 26: Fireplace - Boromir/OC [1,656 words]

My Flufftober '23 masterpost can be found here, and my currently ongoing main fic about these two is here 💜✨

This was originally going to be an AU of Boromir and Sybil meeting in a different way, with him coming to the cabin injured before Bera dies and Sybil having to patch him up immediately upon meeting him…but we’re all enjoying the established relationship stuff so much that I wanted to write more of it. I maaay still write the other one at a later date? But this approach leaves much more room for fully fledged fluff (try saying those last three words three times fast).

This one skews more towards hurt/comfort than pure fluff, but they’re still cute.

Word reached them in Minas Tirith before the men did. What was supposed to be a reconnaissance mission on a pack of orcs rumoured to be skulking around the nearby wilderness had turned into an ambush – some men had been slain, more still were injured. After he’d announced it to those who had filtered out into the courtyard, the messenger pulled Sybil aside and she felt like the world was giving way beneath her feet before he placed a hand on her shoulder and told her that Boromir was fine. He had, it turned out, been given specific instructions to reassure her as to that fact.

Her husband knew her well. But she still paced the courtyard until he arrived – grim-faced atop his horse, his right arm holding the reins and the other held awkwardly towards his body. Injured, then. Boromir’s face softened when he saw her waiting there, although it didn’t cheer much. Sweeping forth, Sybil held out a hand to offer some stability as he climbed one-handed from the horse. Ordinarily she would have hugged him, but she held back, not wanting to aggravate any injuries she couldn’t see.

But it wasn’t going to allow that, reaching out with his good arm to pull her to him tightly, nose burying itself in her hair as she pressed her face to his chest. He smelled of sweat – and blood, along with dirt from the road – but she cared not.

“You’re hurt,” she said when she pulled back. “Come, I can tend to you.”

“I was going to go to the healers,” he hesitated a little. “I just wanted to see you first.”

“The healing houses? Why? Is it…is it so severe?”

“No,” he said quickly. “No, my love. I just have no wish to worry you.”

“If your injuries are so severe you have no wish for me to see them, I’m not sure I find that soothing.”

He smiled tiredly, as if conceded her point. “I suppose I’ve never known you to have a penchant for hysterics.”

“Unless your coat is the only thing keeping the arm on, I’m sure I’ll be able to hold my nerve.”

“Loss of limb is where you draw the line, then?”

“When it’s your limb, yes.”

“I shall keep that in mind for the future. I’m sure neither Aragorn nor Faramir will take your favouritism personally.”

Their teasing was a tired, half-hearted thing – with no real mirth in it, for that matter. Mostly, it was a way for them to both reassure the other that they were well…and avoid discussing anything serious until they were safely within their chambers. He did, however, catch her hand once again halfway up a staircase, urging her to turn, and then kissed her when she did. Ordinarily she would’ve just thought him playful – but ordinarily he’d have done so outside, pulling her up to him so he didn’t need to stoop. The fact that he had to wait until he could use the stairs to their advantage revealed how the injury, or injuries, pained him.

The hand that lifted to touch him faltered in mid-air, not wanting to hurt him further, but his own hand quickly found it and encouraged it closer as he kissed her. Her fingers smoothed up his neck, over the beard at the side of his jaw, threading their way through his hair, and Boromir practically purred under the attention, leaning in impossibly closer still. Even those small movement caused him to pause, a hiss of a breath sucked in sharply between his teeth, but before Sybil could pull away, he kept her where she was with his good arm, kissing her again.

This was not kissing for kissing’s sake – they’d certainly done enough of that for her to recognise it – but the seeking of solace. That she was here, and so was here. And he wasn’t the only one seeking that comfort, for she’d missed him. The tickle and the scratch of his beard against her skin, the surety with which his hands grasped her, the way he towered above her. Even here, with her two steps above him on the staircase, he was still just a touch taller than she.

But a tilt of his head had him drawing back and wincing once again, and Sybil refused to entertain even the most pleasant of delays any longer.

When they arrived to their chambers, she worked with the sort of efficiency that Bera had seen fit to install as muscle memory, back when she first came to her. A fine leather chest brimming with supplies sat where it always did – and she shot a dangerous look to Boromir when he stepped forth to help her lift it – and soon it was dragged beside a stool, and a table by the fire so she would have the best light possible.

They never got the best of the sun in here until the afternoon, and she was not content to wait that long.

Boromir already began to remove his clothing without needing to be asked. First his cloak, cast aside onto the couch, then his surcoat, and by the time he had stripped down to his tunic she was staring worriedly. For no small amount of blood had seeped through the bandages she saw poking out through his collar, as well as the white linen shirt he wore beneath that.

“Had I been wearing my armour, I would not have been scratched,” he noted sourly, taking in her expression as the tunic was discarded into he pile and the shirt swiftly followed thereafter.

It turned out that the only part of the bandage that had been visible up until then was the only part of it that remained white. The rest was dark brown, encrusted with long-dried blood. Sybil pressed her lips together worriedly, and quickly set a pot of water to boil over the fire.

“Sit,” she said softly.

He obeyed without question, only sighing and beginning to offer explanations without her needing to ask.

“It wasn’t supposed to be a battle,” he said.

“I know,” she said quietly, trickling water over the bandages so she wouldn’t rip open the wound when she tried to peel them away.

If it stung, he gave no indication. But his shoulders did tense when she was finally able to peel the soggy bandages away, undoing them from where they’d been haphazardly wound across his shoulder and under his arm. Already it was bleeding anew, bright red blood oozing out over the older dried patches.

The wound was deep. Horribly deep – in a wicked, jagged half-moon across his shoulder, suggesting the blow had been dealt by one who sought to carve meat.

Sybil cursed. “What fool did these bandages?”

“I did it myself.”

“Yourself? Boromir, it should have been stitched, you should know that! You do know that– it’s a miracle it’s not-”

“Our healer was the first to be slain,” he interrupted – with neither anger, nor bite. “In the ambush.”

Her hands stilled, then one settled on his arm, far below the wound. One of his hands found hers readily, reassuring her that there was no ill-will taken from her careless words.

The wound had been cleaned and stitched before either of them spoke again, as she was winding fresh bandages across his chest and up, over the shoulder.

“The orcs?”

In response to that, he grimaced a bitter, bloodthirsty smile. “Wiped out. That band of them, at least. Every last one.”

“Good.”

Lowering her head, she pressed a feather-light kiss over the bandage and then stepped away, ready to begin tidying up her mess. Boromir rose, rolling his shoulder apprehensively – testing the bounds of the bandages and the stitches both. Afterwards, he moved to sit on the couch not occupied by his clothing, clad only in bandages, boots and breeches, watching her progress as she tried to work the shaken nerves out of her system.

“Sit with me?” he broke the quiet they lapsed into once again.

Sybil hesitated and then did so, smiling despite herself as he guided her to practically drape herself across his lap.

“I hate not being out there with you,” she confessed quietly. “I go mad with worry.”

“As I would have, were you there,” he murmured.

The War of the Ring had been one thing. She’d had no choice but to go – but she was not made for warfare, even as far as the small skirmishes that it had devolved into in these times of newfound peace. She was a warrior of absolute necessity, little more. But none of that made it easier to watch him go, despite the fact that he never took on tasks that would see him gone for more than a few weeks at a time. She could never ask him to remain here and live a life of leisure…but she almost wished she had the heart to demand such a thing, on the days she had to watch him ride away. Only almost, though.

She kissed him again, letting it linger, and then sighed and dropped her head to his shoulder.

“I’ll have them run you a bath.”

Boromir barked a laugh – the first real one he’d offered since his return, grinning and shaking his head at her. “Were I less aware of my present state, I’d take offense to that.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she snickered. “Do you forget the days we spent on the road together?”

“How could I?”

“So you’ll know I’ve smelled you in far worse states.”

“You make a habit of sniffing me, do you?”

“Trust me, there were times when I could hardly avoid it,” she teased. “In all seriousness, I’m thinking only of your comfort. It’ll ease your muscles.”

“If it’s my comfort you’re thinking of, you’ll join me in the bath,” he suggested at a murmur. “Only to make sure I don’t get my shoulder wet, you understand.”

Sybil had a vague suspicion that an ulterior motive lay within the request.

But she lost what mind she had for teasing when he pulled her closer and sighed softly.

“How I missed you, my love.”

Links: AO3 -- FF.net -- flufftober masterpost -- dividers by cafekitsune

#esta's flufftober '23 fills #flufftober2023 #flufftober 2023 #boromir/sybil #boromir x oc #boromir/oc #lotrfic #lord of the rings fanfic #lord of the rings fanfiction #boromir fic #boromir fanfic #boromir fanfiction #flufftober

38 notes · View notes

welcomingdisaster · 1 year

Note

A no-pressure prompt for you: something with Maedhros and Maglor, maybe post-Thangorodrim? this isn’t very specific hopefully it works ❤️

The body on the bed is not his brother’s. It cannot be.

The hair is not right. It is too drab, too brown, too thin. The face, cheekbones too sharp, the eyes so deeply sunken in, skin falling about them as loose folds of cloth. Nelyo had had thick eyelashes, copper and curling playfully upwards, and the body has none. The lips— the lips are thin and cracked, slashed over with two criss-crossing cuts, half-healed.

The poor wretch. It is not him. It cannot be him.

But Káno cannot blame them. Cannot blame Findekáno for bringing it back with him, cannot blame Ñolofinweë for calling him. They do not know Nelyo like he does, the body does resemble him. It is the shape of the head, the square jaw. The one ear that is not torn to shreds, the one that curls back, as Nelyo’s had. The body is unusually tall and broad-shouldered, though the arms are so thin they look insectoid, though the knees look swollen as twisted root.

The left hand — the only hand— has a scar over the palm, thin and white. In Aman, when they were children, Nelyo had cut his hand helping mother pick up shards of broken pottery. It had healed just so, that same thin little curve, as a scythe or a question mark. The body bears a similar mark.

The body bears the same mark.

The body—

Káno backs away so sharply he sees not where he is going. He steps on Ñolofinwë’s foot, his back hitting his uncle’s chest.

It is not him, he wants to say, you called me in error, Uncle, for I know my blood.

But then the body moves. It has a jerky way of moving; one sharp movement to jam its elbows against its ribcage, then a sharp, shaky breath, one exhale broken down into several weak gusts of air, and it heaves its head, neck held stiffly, up. Turns to look at Káno with familiar silver-grey eyes. There are freckles on that white skin, buried between the wrinkles.

Alive. Alive.

It makes him think of when they had first seen orcs. Orcs whose limbs bent in ways limbs should not bend, whose jaws hung from their faces at strange, half-turned angles. Who radiated pain in each broken grunt and shout, the sort of pain that is sharp to the touch. They should not move, Káno had thought, they should not live.

“Káno,” the body rasps, in his brother’s voice, “Káno, Káno, Káno.”

The face lights up. The cuts on his lips bleed at the force of the smile, the skin folds in new and strange ways. He is missing teeth. One of his upper incisors, his left canine.

He is missing a hand. He is smiling, with such pure joy as Káno has not seen since the darkening, has not seen in this land. He is smiling, and he says Káno’s name. He is missing a hand.

Káno falls to his knees, taking Nelyo’s remaining hand in his. Kisses the bruises knuckles, the broken, bleeding fingernails, the little twisting scar on the palm. The hand is clean. Someone has cleaned it, has washed blood and dirt off the fingers, has rubbed sweet-smelling lotion into the skin. Someone has braided his hair. Someone has wrapped a deep blue blanket about his shoulders, tucking it into a silver clip.

“Brother,” he says, and his voice sounds worse than Nelyo’s, a ragged, breaking thing, “Nelyo— Maitimo, Varda forgive me, Maitimo.”

He should not cry. He has heard so, in the halls of healing, in the encampments they have set up in this new land. Cry not. Hide your fear, and your anguish, and show only your hope. Wounds of the flesh should not be allowed to become wounds of the spirit.

He cries, feels his shoulders shaking with it, horrible sobs— loud, wailing things, sure to hurt his brother, to hurt this, and he cannot help it. He is ever aware of the breath in his lungs, the air he draws in and lets go as song. He had once amazed his cousins with how long he could hold his breaths under water.

There is not enough room in his chest, now. He sucks in air desperately, but he cannot hold it.

Nelyo reaches for him with the stump of his hand, those same horrible, jerky movements. Sways. He cannot sit up right. Ñolofinwë steps delicately around them, his steps making no sound on the bare wooden floor, and comes to steady Nelyo, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

“I am here,” Nelyo says, the stump brushing awkwardly against Káno’s shoulder. He closes his hand around Káno’s fingers, his thumb brushing over Káno’s knuckles. There is no strength left in it. No strength left in him. “I am here, Káno.”

Káno catches a breath and drags it into his lungs. Holds it there, even as it tries to run from him.

“Forgive me,” he breathes, “Nelyo, forgive me. I thought— forgive me.”

He can feel the shape of his brother’s words. Can hear the ghost of his voice, patient and measured. How often, these days, he hears his brother’s ghost. There is naught to forgive, the Nelyo in his head says, his voice warm as the treelight, I was not angry, Káno.

Slowly, painfully, Nelyo pulls his hand away from him. Reaches to smooth Káno’s hair back from his face. A strand of it has stuck to his cheek, wet with tears and already crusting over.

“You are forgiven,” he says, “I forgave you long since, Káno.”

And it is right, the cadence; the way he says, the warmth that clings yet to his voice, the slight of deliberation between each word, as though he chooses them with the utmost care. But not the words themselves.

Káno climbs into bed with him. His brother leans on him, absurdly light; Káno fears to bruise bone should he embrace him. For a little while they do not speak. Káno tries not to think of the blood, the scars, the drab, brownish hair. But is almost worse to see the freckles and the smile, to hear his brother’s voice.

Findekáno slips into the room then, settling silently at his brother’s other side. The right side. The side with the stump and the bandages and the blood yet dotting the sheets. Káno spares him a glance. He is little changed in profile, though the ice has left him thinner and wearier, and, though new upon the land, he wears the familiar scars of orc blades his hand and his cheek.

Struck with sudden feeling, Káno leans over Nelyo to grab him by the collar.

“Káno—“ Findekáno starts, but he cuts him off.

He kisses him, kisses him though some part of him hates him already. Their cheeks brush against each other, and his tears smudge his cousin’s golden face-paint. He does not think he could ever be more grateful than he is now, cannot imagine a greater debt.

Findekáno stares at him as he pulls away, his eyes wide and owlish, lips still slightly open. Then he laughs, and that makes Nelyo laugh too, a strange, huffing sound that seems at risk of crumbling into coughs.

“Cousin,” Findekáno says, laughing yet, “what a greeting that was!”

“He has grown quite strange in this land,” Nelyo rasps, again taking Káno’s hand, “I almost did not know him when he came, so much he looked as some wise and noble king, hair of raven and crown of gold! Look, brother, how you have changed!”

No, Kánafinwë thinks desperately, feeling the crown upon his head as he shakes it, no, no. I haven’t.

-------------------------------------------------------

thank you for the prompt!! <3 this was very fun & I really enjoyed trying to figure out Maglor's voice for the first time

#<3 #theghostinthemargins #i will clean it up and post it on ao3 tomorrow #my fic #maglor #maedhros #fingon. is kinda in this

91 notes · View notes

theladysherlock · 27 days

Note

talk shop tuesday! incredible coincidence - i wanted to ask you more about your dnd OCs, and you posted a new art piece with one of them! continuing the theme: could you tell more about your dnd OCs and how they came to be?

Ohhhh you have opened Pandora's Box my friend!! I could talk about this topic all day.

Basically there's two parts to this: my approach to DnD in general, and in-depth explanations of the characters. I'm going to put this under a Read More to save everyone's Dash.

Part One: Dungeons and Dragons

So the thing I love most about DnD (and other TTRPGs) is that it's a collaborative game. I'm not responsible for the entirety of the story, I bring my character to the table and everyone else brings their characters and between us, the DM, and the dice, we figure out where the story is going. I enjoy it so much more than trying to come up with everything on my own. And I love that people can surprise me!! @mothmansbigfatass and @ahawkmet (my irl friends and in most of the campaigns I play) can attest, apparently I'm a lot of fun to watch during revelations because I always have a big reaction.

So when making a dnd character, it's important for me to know 1. What the world we'll be playing in is like, and 2. What everyone else is doing. Again, it's a collaborative game, so I want to make sure that I'm playing nice with the DM's world. AND often the setting itself will give me an idea (see Ethan: the game is set at a community college. What's a college stereotype that would be fun to play?). Ideally, the character I make would have a really hard time being plopped into a different campaign and have it still make sense. Secondly, it's more fun for me to play a class that will fill out the party. For example, if we already have a cleric, I don't also need to play a religious character. Those story beats are covered by someone else, I don't want to be competing with another person for cool moments.

Once those two things are settled, character creation is determined by what seems fun to play and what would be interesting aesthetically. I like to keep the backstory light to see what happens as we start playing, and then I can fill it in bit by bit later. Sometimes that bites me in the ass, though (see Ethan: I didn't give him birth parents and then they were incredibly important to the plot). I tend to have a general idea about who they are and what they're like, and then I always get surprised by what they actually end up acting like once we start playing. It's fun for me to figure them out along the way!

The last thing I wanna say about DnD (for now) is that I love everyone else's characters just as much. I just draw mine more because, well, they're mine. I feel weird putting their guys in situations and guessing how they'd react because they aren't my little guys. I much prefer working collaboratively with the other players (like an RP thread) to just writing a story on my own.

Part Two: Ethan

Where to even start with my boy. A bunch of my work friends got together to start a DnD game, and I hadn't played with most of them before so I wasn't sure what to expect. I also did not think the game would last very long, since most campaigns tend to fizzle out after a few sessions. So I made kind of a joke character with extremely little backstory: He's a half-orc, since I hadn't played that race before, he's a bard who is the captain of the local community college's Improv Team, he's "the kind of guy to play wonderwall at a party but you're not mad about it", and I said he's adopted by two men, neither of whom were his biological parents, and he wasn't particularly interested in tracking down his bio parents. This last point is for two reasons: one, I was trying to avoid just duplicating a Dimension 20's Gorgug, a half-orc who was adopted by gnomes and spent the whole first season trying to find his dad; and two, I was pushing an "Adopted parents are not less than biological parents" agenda.

My DM took this personally (affectionate). First session, I was given a clue about his birth parents' identities. From then on, Ethan was dragged kicking and screaming into being the unofficial main character of the campaign. His mom was one of our favorite NPCs, a kickass pirate with a truly tragic backstory who would always jump to help us out of a scrape. His biological dad was the human embodiment of Pride who had took on the form of Fantasy Harrison Ford and was an extremely famous actor in-world. Our BBEG was his uncle, the embodiment of Greed. Every plot point became very personal and it was a lot of fun. I also loved putting him through the wringer, so between me and the DM the poor guy couldn't catch a break.

Part of the dice telling the story, I rolled so bad all the time when I played Ethan. It didn't matter which dice I used, I just rolled really bad, which was not something that normally happened with me. So that was fun to incorporate into his character as we played-- he was insecure about his own abilities compared to the extremely powerful characters he was surrounded by (we had a 20 ft Earth Titan who was an extremely powerful Druid, Emeshka you will always be famous). So he became a more three-dimensional and actualized character the more we played.

He's extremely easy to put in situations and his character design is pretty solid, so I end up drawing him the most. My perfect little guy.

(Anything about him I've tagged either "Ethan" or "Big Yarr Energy" if you want to find more)

Part Three: Mina

After the campaign with Ethan wrapped up, we started a new one in a Cthulhu-inspired setting. My goal with making Mina was to do as close to a 180 as I could from Ethan. While Ethan was a friendly and charming but bad at most things, Mina is a competent and intelligent Druid who's blunt and overworked and doesn't quite know how to meaningfully engage with her party members (but she tries, bless her). Druid was one of the classes I hadn't played yet and I've been making my way through the list of available classes. The One-With-Nature stuff isn't super interesting to me as a player, but I found a homebrew subclass that was based more in Big Cities and as an Architecture Nerd that was much more my speed. Also, I hadn't played an Aasimar before, so that seemed like fun. From all that, I pulled together her whole deal: She was from a bloodline of guardian angels who were sent to protect different villages and towns, and she's gone from her mother's small town to being the guardian of a city of several million people and it's overwhelming. She's lonely and she's jaded and she's got severe Gifted Kid Syndrome and she's got her head on a swivel to make sure her party members are okay even if they don't like her very much and I love her.

I didn't give her a lot of tragic backstory because there are a lot of us playing and I wanted to have a character who could push the plot forward with her actions, instead of having a "now let's stop and talk about my life!!" moment every session that seemed to happen with Ethan. Give everyone else some time to have cool moments, you know? And by GOD are there some cool moments. My fellow players are so good at making compelling characters. Ask @mothmansbigfatass about Nelly if you get a chance.

We're still playing this campaign, although we're nearing the end of it. There's still space for some big moments for Mina in the game, though I'm hoping our DM lets me save hers for last. She's the kind of character to make sure everyone else is okay before taking care of herself, so it feels appropriate. I'm excited to see where Mina ends up. She's definitely a character I'll go back and write/draw a lot afterwards, though. Part of being in a group this size means there's a lot of stuff that just won't get covered. I'll have a lot of material to play with for my own work once we get to the next campaign.

(Anything about Mina I've tagged either "Mina" or "Cthulhu Crimes" if you want to find more)

Part Four: Jess

Jess is a character that isn't from DnD but is a TTRPG character of mine, and I like her so I'm going to talk about her too. Jess is a cautionary tale in Knowing Your Audience.

Jess is from a different group of players than Ethan and Mina. Our DM for that game is notorious for wanting to give us Big, Shonen-Style fight scenes and an insane level of power creep. Character interactions are fine, but his true passion is making us look like Goku.

Jess was... not built to look like Goku. In this world you could identify different types of magic users by their focus, and I wanted her whole schtick to be about deception. She looked like a wizard when she was actually a monk, she looked like a dumb blonde girl when she was extremely smart and good at stealing things, she's a dancer but her primary fighting style was based on capoeira, etc. Also part of why Jess sticks with me as a favorite character is the way I had her powers work was so fun and visually interesting that I haven't been able to shake it. Basically her superpower was that she could snatch bits of other people's powers and use them herself, and you could tell which ones she had because they would fill out spectral stained glass wings with specific colors.

Jess was (and still is, frankly) too complicated for the game our DM wanted to run. Immediately any hope of her being a chronic liar was dashed as her powers did not manifest in a way that could possibly pass off as being a wizard. So instead of being sneaky, Jess became very angry. She was quick to point out injustices in the world we were in. She beat up creeps, she yelled at bigots, she stole powers from macho superheroes trying to one-up her. She had to get a lot less complicated for the story we were in, but the complicated version of her still lives in my head and I like to see what she's up to from time to time.

(I don't think I have anything tagged for Jess, unfortunately)

TL; DR:

TTRPG characters are fun because they let me do my favorite thing creatively, which is bounce ideas off of other people. I typically design them based on the setting, party needs, character tropes that I think are interesting, and just general vibes. Most importantly, though, I don't have a fleshed out character without the input of the other players.

#talk shop Tuesday #good LORD that's a lot of words #I'm incapable of shutting up it seems. ah well #I can tell more stories about them though. I should bring back the story times #I think the last one I posted was over a year ago #ANYWAY thank you for the ask!

9 notes · View notes

darydark · 3 months

Text

I got possessed by spirit of drawing and did more of my RGG x TES crossover. I should make a tag for it. Again, some lore under the cut, now about Majima (Goro), Taiga and Makoto

This one is more lore heavy than the Kazuma and his siblings. I'm afraid all of this would seem like the actual RGG characters' backstories but with TES skin on it, but hey, I like their actual story and yeah maybe I lack originality so what, it's my crossover, I can keep any part of RGG cannon I want. Also I'm keeping the Taiga stuff more vague as I'm still playing Y4, where Taiga makes his first appearance and I'm not on his part of game yet, so I can still change stuff

Goro is an Ashlander from a small tribe that was wiped out by mainland dunmer. He was spared because the killers wanted to take him as a slave (Goro was a child when that happened). But then he was rescued (accidentally) by a strong and powerful orc. Goro wanted to follow that orc, but the orc just shoo'd him away, for now. Then Goro met Khajiit siblings, Taiga and Yasuko (who themselves were escaping being trafficked), and ever since travelled with them.

The boys were offering themselves as mercenaries in their teen years and did a lot of dirty jobs, until they met that same orc, who then accepted the boys into his outlaw group called The Dogs of Shimano. The orc is Shimano himself, of course.

While things were going alright for three of them, the boys wanted more and did stuff behind Shimano's back for additional cash. They had a plan to have enough money to live a normal life without crime. But, when they were ordered to do a hit on a group of people, it turned out it was a wrong move to make. Both of them were punished, Goro had his eye gouged out but Taiga was sent to Deadlands. The mage that sent him away mocked that only he knew where Taiga is at all time

Goro made a plea and was spared but basically became a slave to one of Shimano's friends (yes, Sagawa). If he ever wanted to save Taiga, unfortunately he had to endure everything and ask nicely later. So, Goro's master turned out to be a vampire. Goro had to put on a show, entertain other vampires and sometimes be fed on by his master. One day he was given a mission...

Makoto is half bosmer half dunmer (her mother is bosmer). Her parents were vampires and after having two children, the mother wanted to cure the whole family and live a normal life. The father disagreed. Anyway, the mother took the kids with her. Eventually she managed to cure herself and Makoto but the eldest child ran away, still a vampire. Even though Makoto is mortal, her blood is still powerful and would be beneficial for any vampire to drink. Makoto moved to Morrowind when she grew up. One day she was kidnapped. He took her to place with other people, where all of them were going to be sold. She was forced to drink something and then, after all the stress and the poison, she became blind.

She was rescued and lived relatively normally, until suddenly she became a target for vampires.

Goro was tasked to bring her to his master, so he would feast on her blood, but Goro just couldn't do it. They ran away with a whole big story to tell in which both Goro and Makoto ended up relatively fine. Goro was no longer a slave but returned working for Shimano (also Shimano confirmed that Taiga is still alive somewhere in Deadlands). Makoto was no longer chased by horde of vampires and regained her sight back, also got in touch with her brother again. Unfortunately, Goro and Makoto had to be apart and never meet each other (it relates to the plot I have in mind, which deviates a little bit from canon reason why these two can't see each other)

#sorry i can't draw khajiits but Taiga had to be a khajiit it's just perfect for him #yakuza #rgg #the elder scrolls #RGGxTES crossover #RDD DRAWS

11 notes · View notes

luddlestons · 8 months

Note

... do you think tiefling clothing needs to be custom-made? Considering the amount of variations of anatomy they can have?

We got:

Variations on Horn size and Shape. How would they get anything on over their heads?

Some tieflings get wings, I'm pretty sure. Back cutouts? Just straight-up backless shirt?

Some tieflings have goat legs, like a satyr or depiction of the devil.

Clothing probably gets expensive, I'm just saying!

If we’re talking about your standard medieval-era fantasy d&d world, most clothing was custom made in the analogous earth time periods, either by tailors or by family members who knew how to sew garments. (Usually women but if we’re doing fantasy, fuck gender!) Some basics were ready-made, but the wide array of ready-made garments we see in stores nowadays are more of a post-industrial revolution thing afaik. (I’m not a fashion historian or medievalist by any means, just a fantasy writer/artist who likes to sew, so more info is welcome here!)

In more specific fantasy world dynamic thoughts: I imagine some tailors would specialize more so in tiefling clothing than others, so you’d want to go to one who knew what they were doing, but I don’t know that it would be much different to an average person’s clothing budget unless you’re in an area where tieflings are particularly rare, the tailor is upcharging you for modifications to basic patterns, and you don’t have any time or resources to sew your own garments or modify one you already have.

I imagine that in a fantasy world like d&d in particular, tailoring would have to be more varied based on the sheer number of different common body types! While in our world, a 7ft tall person is uncommon enough that most tailors would never have one as a client, d&d has half-giants, orcs, and firbolgs, all of whom are regularly over 7ft tall. I would say same difference for gnomes and halflings being so short, but probably you could just use the same sort of scaling you would for children’s garments so that wouldn’t be too out of the ordinary.

Tieflings, of course, land in the category of Extra Bits, like dragonborn, fauns, aasimar, and maybe others? I don’t know much about tabaxi, do they have tails? They ought to, right? (And depending on your lore I see people draw firbolgs and halflings with tails too!) And then you have tortles and aarakokra which are just different shapes ENTIRELY. Sartorial trades in fantasy universes would have to be WAAAY more varied, and that’s pretty cool to think about!

Oh but specifically for tieflings: for wings—I’ve seen designs that basically have slits with buttons or other fastenings that go above the wing so you sort of slide them on and then close them. I imagine you’d need a buddy to help you get dressed though, those seem like even more of a nightmare to do up unassisted than zipping up your own dress. Tails could function in basically the same way, just having a fastening above where they sit, but it would have to be very fitted to your individual tail, cuz if someone else’s is thicker or thinner and you’re borrowing their clothes, that looks like a Problem to Me.

Horns are probably the easiest to get around! You’d just need something that either buttons or laces up the front, has a very wide neckline, or that you can pull up from the bottom like a lot of dresses with fastenings up the back!

**forgot: faun-like legs/hooves would probably require either wide leg pants or SKIRTS! This is also what I use for my dragonborn who has legs shaped more like if a horse had claws and scales.

….this got very long. I think about these things OFTEN.

#and also I’m waiting for bg3 to be released to my console so my brain is in d&d zone #d&d #critical role #(as I have to think about this often whenever I’m designing Molly outfits)

24 notes · View notes

lendmyboyfriendahand · 11 months

Text

Glorfindel was not expecting Elrond to show up at his door. True, he was the captain of the guard, and an injured elf had just been founds on the banks of the Bruinien. But Glorfindel had already sent off scouts to look for orc attacks, or a group of travelers who were missing one of their company, or even the blood trail of the victim. They had found nothing yet, and likely wouldn't report for several days.

Whats more, the elf had been so badly injured that Elrond had declared himself the only one who could lead his healing. With the amount of blood on the grass, and the skewed angles of the injured elf's limbs, and the comment Glorfindel had over heard to "pick that up and put it in his lap, his guts go on the inside but we can fix that as long we don't leave them on the bank-"... Glorfindel had not expected to see Elrond for a day or two.

Indeed, Elrond was standing with his legs wide in the way that would help keep him from swaying. Healing the stranger had obviously taken a lot of his energy.

"How is the patient?" Glorfindel asked.

"Alive, and on the mend. He even spoke a little before falling back asleep."

"Really? Did he say who attacked him?"

"Nothing useful. You are good at portraits, aren't you?"

"I can do a quick sketch well enough to be recognized, but nothing worth displaying."

"Perfect. I need you to draw Finwe. And his eldest two sons for good measure, if you have the time. I'll look it over at breakfast."

"Elrond, is this really the time to make me pick up a hobby?"

"It's not a hobby. I need to know what he looked like; what all of them looked like."

"Others could make a far more elegant rendition of your ancestor."

"There are few in Rivendell who even met Fingolfin, and none but you who saw Finwe in person. All the rest would be working from paintings or from descriptions, half of which were made to flatter Gil-Galad with a supposed resemblance."

"Fine, I'll draw a portrait of Finwe. Does the new arrival claim to know him? Personally, I'd claim closeness with a more recent king if I wanted to get attention."

"He said something like that, yes."

"Do you want me to help you get his story, and see if his answers sound like he's actually been to Tirion?"

"Once he's recovered a bit. The picture will be a good start."

#my fic #silm #finwe in the third age

37 notes · View notes

cloudycaffeinatedcryptid · 4 months

Note

I got something for you to chew on: what would the counselors DnD classes and race be? Bonus points for subclasses

oml i love this 😭 thank you. i miss my dnd group every day

Dylan's easy, he plays a half-elf bard/artificer. best of both worlds; he gets to be a charming dope & flash his knowledge at the same time. he's one of those players that's obnoxious but also so, so funny & ends up saving an encounter from going south more than once. his artificer subclass is definitely gravity arcanist - drawing the fire to protect his teammates sounds like his kind of thing

Emma strikes me as an elf girl & originally i wanted to make her a bard also, but i actually think she would play a ranger. after a lot of thought, i like to imagine to chooses celestial archer as her subclass & now i can't stop picturing Emma with a magic bow

i don't know why but Nick strikes me as a satyr. i'm not going to clown on him this time, it just seems like it fits. i also think he would play a monk - there's too many subclasses, my eyes hurt - & carries around a slingshot & a bunch of sharp stones. weird ass

Kaitlyn wants to be BIG. she plays a bloody orc with a massive warhammer that towers over the other players. with everyone else's insistence, she finally started doing A Voice. she plays a fighter & she went with the classic destroyer subclass to unleash her pent-up rage

since he's new to the game, Jacob picks dragonborn & assumes he's cheesed the system before figuring out how it works. he gets insanely attached to his character tho. he chose to be a barbarian & he's still deciding on a subclass :) he's either going to take the magical girl route or the way of the monkey king

Abi gets overwhelmed by all the choices & ends up playing a human in a panic, but she's not too disappointed, especially when she chooses to be a druid & then she gets VERY into the game. i think it would be cool if she picked the circle of the dragonshifter, but i do think she would take a stronger liking to the circle of the stars

Ryan prolly DMs, if we're being honest, but he would prolly play an earth genasi - he seems the type. steadfast and smart, able to blend with the world. he's a warlock on the outsider path & i had to resist the urge to pick so many things based purely on jokes

bonus - Laura plays a rogue tiefling & Max plays her dedicated sorceror satyr bf that tossing healing spells her way whenever they fight

#sorry i used satyr twice im very tired #but i loved thinking about this #they all deserve a campaign. as a treat #it was SO hard not to choose the wolf subclasses just for funnies #it would be HILARIOUS #the quarry #ask moth

13 notes · View notes

dxnse-macabre · 2 months

Text

GET TO KNOW YOUR MUSE BETTER

✩ — 𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐂𝐒.

▸ IS YOUR MUSE TALL / SHORT / AVERAGE? : tall, at least according to the dnd player handbook. the average height for elves ranges from under 5' to above 6'. he's on the taller end of the scale.

▸ ARE THEY OKAY WITH THEIR HEIGHT ? : yes!! he loves being able to look down at others, gives him some feeling of superiority.

▸ WHAT’S THEIR HAIR LIKE? : white, curly. he puts a hint of product in his hair so it at least stays out of his face when he fights (his secret is aloe. both serves as some sort of shampoo/conditioner and hair gel to keep his hair in place.) if you run your hands through his hair right after he took a bath without any aloe, it's very soft.

▸ DO THEY SPEND A LOT OF TIME ON THEIR HAIR / GROOMING? : of course! you will NEVER catch him with greasy hair, unless it is right after a fight-- but the second he's back at camp, he's the first person in the river bathing. while he has fun killing and gutting others, he doesn't like it when he feels sticky, sweaty, and gross.

▸ DOES YOUR MUSE CARE ABOUT THEIR APPEARANCE / WHAT OTHERS THINK ? : the one thing he has left that is his is his appearance, so of course he'd be very particular about it. he relishes in the fact that he's very attractive, and holds it very dear to his heart (that's also why he refuses to take the astral tadpole)

✩ — 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒.

▸ INDOORS OR OUTDOORS? : outdoors. he can get claustrophobic if indoors is too... indoors.

▸ RAIN OR SUNSHINE? : he loves the sun. he misses it.

▸ FOREST OR BEACH? : forest. he doesn't like sand; it gets in places you never want it to be.

▸ PRECIOUS METALS OR GEMS? : gems. he would love to rock some rings with precious stones on them.

▸ FLOWERS OR PERFUMES? : perfumes. he loves smelling amazing.

▸ PERSONALITY OR APPEARANCE? : personality. he doesn't care if you're a dwarf. he doesn't care if you're an orc. or a tiefling. or a gith. he finds his partners sexy either way, so as long as they respect his boundaries and listen to him

▸ BEING ALONE OR BEING IN A CROWD? : depends. he likes to be the life of the party and draw everyone's attention. but being alone?... sometimes he needs a moment to think by himself. but he's also afraid of dying alone, so...

▸ ORDER OR ANARCHY? : anarchy. let's fuck some shit up

▸ PAINFUL TRUTHS OR WHITE LIES? : white lies. he'd lie his ass everywhere he goes if that meant that he lives or that it saves someone from a moment of hurt. he really believes in the whole, "ignorance is bliss" thing.

▸ SCIENCE OR MAGIC? : magic. he gives gale a lot of shit for being a magical wizard guy, but... truth be told, he's pretty jealous. he wishes that he could just burn everyone that touches him in a way he doesn't like.

▸ PEACE OR CONFLICT? : conflict. he loves the drama

▸ NIGHT OR DAY? : day. night is nice, but he relishes the daylight when he can.

▸ DUSK OR DAWN? : dusk. this is the prime time to get up to no good

▸ WARMTH OR COLD? : warmth. he needs a hug

▸ MANY ACQUAINTANCES OR A FEW CLOSE FRIENDS? : few close friends. he needs them. he has too many people that know his body, but not who he is.

▸ READING OR PLAYING A GAME? : reading. you guys know the idle animation LOL

✩ — 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐄.

▸ WHAT ARE SOME OF YOUR MUSE’S BAD HABITS? : he's a, "glass half-empty" kind of guy. he's inclined to be very self-centered and pragmatic, and also jealous of those that tav helps out. it always goes back to the whole, "why weren't you there so you could have helped me when i needed it most" kind of thing.

▸ HAS YOUR MUSE LOST ANYONE CLOSE TO THEM? HOW HAS IT AFFECTED THEM? : his family. his friends in his past life. his mortality. he lost so much, and he has to live with that for however long he has left. he's afraid to watch all of the companions live out their last days, due to his immortality.

▸ WHAT ARE SOME FOND MEMORIES YOUR MUSE HAS? : honestly? he doesn't have much. the new memories that he makes now are the best memories he has. if he tries to think of the past, his good memories from his life before... he can't remember.

▸ IS IT EASY FOR YOUR MUSE TO KILL? : yeah. it's too easy for him to take away a life. he's been doing it for so long, he often forgets that the people he killed had lives that they left behind.

▸ WHAT’S IT LIKE WHEN YOUR MUSE BREAKS DOWN? : it's emotional, explosive. if he's angry, he has angry tears running down his cheeks. don't trust him with a knife or anything else, because he will stab someone/something. if it's a depressed breakdown, he falls to his knees. he might even slam his fists or claw at the ground if he feels like he's been wronged and doesn't feel like he deserved whatever he got. then, there's a calm after the storm. he goes catatonic for a while and tries to process what happened.

▸ IS YOUR MUSE CAPABLE OF TRUSTING SOMEONE WITH THEIR LIFE? : he's afraid to, but he's capable. you need to get through several barriers first before he takes it in stride. he needs to trust you first. otherwise, he'll think that you're trying to force him to be indebted to you.

▸ WHAT’S YOUR MUSE LIKE WHEN THEY’RE IN LOVE? : he's afraid. he's afraid to see how it ends up, afraid to fuck it up, but he's also so certain that it's what he wants. he holds it close, but holds you like porcelain. i like to think that the real astarion, the mortal one from almost 200 years ago, comes back. he learns how to live again. he learns that he isn't just an object. he learns that he's more than what the world made him out to be, thanks to you. he will search far and wide for something that can "cure" your mortality without giving your soul to the devil... but if he can't find that? he's still happy that it happened, and will want to die by your side once you two have lived a happy life together.

tagged by: the one and only @wildskissed tagging: @crimesought @murderbled @nightsdogma + anyone else that wants to do this!

#character study // dxnse macabre.#// THIS IS SO LONG #// BUT IT'S SO GOOD #// i also kind of got carried away with the last few questions #// but astarion needs it

7 notes · View notes

valiantstarlights · 1 year

Text

The Endless siblings' (and Hob's) DND characters

Disclaimer: I only used stuff from the PHB (5E) to make things easier for everyone, including myself.

Destiny

Race: Half-Orc

Class: Monk (Way of the Open Hand)

Background: Acolyte

Wanted to be a monk so he can reason that his entire body is a weapon and therefore can't be allowed in fancy gatherings.

Wants to have a low INT character because he's tired of knowing everything IRL.

Likes stealing things and gets away with it thanks to his high DEX score.

Carries Death and Delirium's characters on his shoulders when the party has to flee. (Destruction can fend for himself.)

Death

Race: Rock Gnome

Class: Cleric (Life Domain)

Background: Sailor

Nobody dies on her watch. Don't fight her on this. She will win.

Helps everyone, even villains.

Loves shopping episodes.

Dream and Hob's characters' #1 shipper.

Dream

Race: High Elf (or Drow--check with the DM first)

Class: Bard (College of Lore)

Background: Noble

His character is literally the antithesis of what a bard is usually portrayed as.

Wears only black, grey, or white clothes and loves to play melancholic music. Flirting? He doesn't know her. (Desire once called him a College of Eral bard because he took the fun out of funeral.)

Wanted to have a sad ending for his character in the beginning but changed his mind after Hob made him feel so loved that he chose to live happily with him instead. (in-game and in real life.)

The looks like he could kill you but is actually a cinnamon roll. Donates 10% of his earnings to schools and orphanages and thus is well-loved by good NPCs of the realm.

Destruction

Race: Mountain Dwarf

Class: Barbarian (Path of the Berserker)

Background: Outlander

Tries his best not to be a murderhobo.

Sings Misty Mountains every short/long rest. He's actually more of a traditional bard than Dream is, and he's also proficient in a musical instrument thanks to his background.

Likes drawing (stick figure) fanart of the party.

Describes his character as having the most magnificent beard.

Desire

Race: Tiefling

Class: Sorcerer (Draconic Bloodline)

Background: Charlatan

Tried to seduce Hob's character once and it almost resulted in a PVP with Dream.

Calls the big bad 'mommy/daddy.'

Successfully fucked a genasi who was the big bad's right hand and in doing so saves the day.

They ended up married to him and they have adorable little tiefling-genasi children together.

Despair

Race: Green Dragonborn

Class: Paladin (Oath of Vengeance)

Background: Urchin

Amazing at roleplaying.

Likes having the tallest character.

The party's leader via unanimous decision.

Likes to haggle during shopping episodes.

(Note: The twins' characters are siblings. They have literally planned their characters to both have wings that matched the other's race.

Desire's tiefling will have dragon wings at level 14. Despair's dragonborn will have wings at level 20 and she's gonna describe them as bat-like and demonic in appearance.)

Delirium

Race: Lightfoot Halfling

Class: Druid (Circle of the Moon)

Background: Hermit

Just wants to turn into all the animals and talk to plants!

Druidcrafts flower crowns every day for everyone (Dream and Hob get matching ones)

Likes to be the party's weather forecaster.

Hoards all the dice.

Hob

Race: Half-Elf

Class: Rogue (Assassin)

Background: Soldier

Here to romance Dream's character. That's pretty much it.

Will do anything for Dream, including giving him all his gold. Literally the simpiest simp to ever walk the earth.

During character creation, when Dream says he's gonna be an elf, Hob immediately called dibs on being a half-elf. (They gotta be anatomically compatible, okay? For reasons.)

The sunshine of the party along with Delirium. That is, until Dream gets hurt. And then no one is safe from his wrath. He's the looks like a cinnamon roll but could actually kill you. Do not fuck with him (or Dream). He has the power of god and anime on his side.

#dreamling DND AU #literally the first post I ever reblogged is about dnd and this AU started in the tags of that post #this is a no humans campaign #8 party members lord have mercy on the DM #I could never #dungeons and dragons #the sandman #dreamling #my writing #I haven't watched the DND movie yet. should I? 🤔#I mean I want to but I'm hesitating because I feel leery about what the company from seattle has done and is doing

41 notes · View notes

demenior · 3 months

Text

Happy wip Wednesday. Today I offer you an older, unpublished piece I'm still obsessed with. I was trying to write it before the Fjorigins comic was released, but, alas. So it's non-canon.

Fjord and Vandran's first meeting. Sabian is there too.

“Stowaways,” Captain Vandran observes. He’s sitting behind a large desk in the captain’s cabin.

Fjord balls his hands into fists to keep them from trembling.

The captain looks to the man standing behind Sabian. The quartermaster, if Fjord heard him right.

“How the fuck did we get stowaways?” the captain has a deep drawl to his voice. He speaks in low tones, which make it sound like he’s not bothered. His sharp gaze suggests otherwise.

“Hell if I know,” the quartermaster shrugs, “I’ve got the men sweeping the brig, but I think it’s just these two brats.”

Vandran nods in agreement, and then focuses his eyes on Fjord and Sabian. He’s got such an intense gaze, that Fjord is certain that this man will kill them. His waxed moustache twitches as his lips curl into a snarl.

“The hell are you boys doing on my ship?”

Sabian’s looking at Fjord. Fjord isn’t sure what to say. He knows the zhelezo in Port Damali, knows what to say as a half-orc and an orphan to appease them into letting him go when he gets into trouble. Knows how to charm the matron at the Asylum into letting him stay just one more night, even though he’s too old to be living on handouts. And now he’s here, out on the open sea, and Fjord doesn’t know what to say.

“You’re Stones?” Vandran guesses. It’s not too hard a guess. Boys wearing ragged pants that are too short at the ankle. Shirts that are threadbare and stained with age. Sabian stole an open vest off a clothesline a few weeks back, but neither of them can afford another shirt or even shoes. They look like what everyone expects of the Asylum wards.

“We’re w-willing to work for passage,” Fjord says. His voice sounds high-pitched, a flighty bird compared to the steady force of the Captains’ drawl.

Captain Vandran sighs loudly, “And what use are two boys to me, Mr. Stone?”

This is the furthest Fjord has ever been from Port Damali and the first thing anyone knows about him is that he’s a fucking Stone.

“That’s not my name!” Fjord snaps.

It draws the captain’s full attention. Fjord squares his shoulders. Stares back.

“That is the name given to wards of the state, am I wrong?” the captain asks.

“It was given to me,” Fjord admits. His voice cracks, “but I don’t want it. My name is Fjord.”

Captain Vandran nods slowly. Looks to Sabian, but Sabian can’t hold his gaze.

“We can work,” Fjord says again. Sabian’s gone mute, so it’s up to Fjord to save them, “whatever needs doing—cleaning, cooking. I’m-- I know how to mend. I can sew. Or—or I learn fast. Whatever you need.”

The captain nods slowly, strokes a hand down his pointed beard. Looks up to the quartermaster again. Fjord turns his head to watch the silent conversation play out. He doesn’t know them well enough to read them. The captain is too stoic to gauge his emotions.

“Do you know what the policy is for stowaways, boy?” Captain Vandran asks.

Fjord thinks carefully, “They—they get reported to the zhelezo? When you dock?”

Vandran taps his fingers on his desk, “That’s what they say, yes. But how often do you think a stowaway actually makes it back to shore?”

Sabian whimpers. Fjord digs his fingernails into his palms. Thinks about all the kids at the Driftwood who caused too much trouble, and were “adopted”: never to be seen again. Thinks about slinking around the docks and staying near crowds so the zhelezo can’t use him as a scapegoat. He’s been one step ahead of a world that doesn’t want him his whole life. Fjord tries to convince himself that this threat is nothing new.

He’s also aware that you can only run for so long. Death only has to catch him once.

“Are you—are you going to kill us?” Fjord asks.

Captain Vandran stands up. Fjord’s heart leaps into his throat. The man makes his way around his desk without breaking eye contact. He stops in front of Fjord. Fjord can’t take his eyes off of him. He feels the same kind of shame that wells up in him when he’d be singled out for games of playing hero, when Fjord was always picked to play the monster the other children would kill. The kind of shame that can still bring tears to his eyes if he lets it. He won’t give anyone the satisfaction of making him cry ever again.

Captain Vandran stares at Fjord. Fjord balls his hands into fists. He’s tall, but he doesn’t have the same kind of muscle as working men. He can’t win this fight, but he’s going to give it his all.

Captain Vandran glances again to his quartermaster. The corner of his mouth curls upwards. One of his teeth is gold-capped.

“It’s a nice day. I’d hate to ruin it with some killing. Wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Dhelir?”

“Aye,” the quartermaster says, “bad luck to do something like that, with the weather as it is.”

“So Mr. Fjord. And Mr. Stone,” Captain Vandran says, “I’m not going to kill you. Not today, at least. While the weather, and my patience, still holds.”

Sabian sighs in relief. It comes out as a whine. Fjord keeps his eyes locked on the captain. There’s going to be a but, he knows it. The captain watches him right back.

“Get them some food. They look like they haven’t eaten in weeks,” Captain Vandran orders, “and then find them some work.”

Captain Vandran leans back, breaking away from Fjord. Fjord keeps his fists tight to keep from shaking. His chest aches like he ran a marathon, and he’s lightheaded with relief.

“Thank you,” Fjord hears himself say. Sabian has the sense to find his tongue again and blurts out a thank you as well. This has to be a trick. There’s no way this isn’t a trap of some sort.

Fjord can’t tell when the hammer is going to drop. But for now, he’s alive.

“Don’t make me regret it,” the captain orders.

#<3 this is a found family story #guy who doesn't know he's met his son figure #guy who doesn't know he's just met his father figure #vandran #cr vandran #fjord stone #critical role #vandran is modelled after flint from black sails #bc we had no visual of him at time of writing #fjord tusktooth

7 notes · View notes