We had a nice little moment with Caradoc in our campaign recently, where one of our party members gave him a ring as a present. With no ulterior motives whatsoever, of course! :^)
A pretty ring, specifically custom ordered, that can mechanically change size and fit any finger. Perfect for a ghost who tends to switch the bodies he takes control of.
I decided to have some fun and write a little fanfic about what he might be thinking of it afterwards.
Notes:
Caradoc is currently in the City of Lost Names
He is possessing the body of a woman
Our Caradoc has some unresolved feelings regarding gender that he is avoiding to think about
He has been sort of helping the party, mostly due to being bullied into it, but his loyalties are unclear
The Ring
He stared at it. The gold was glinting even in the low light of the sunset, the metal still shiny and polished and new. Caradoc rolled it around her… his… her finger. The finger of the body he possessed. It fit perfectly. He toyed around with it, loosening and tightening it. The mechanism worked smoothly. It was a bit addicting, he had found himself doing it during the day several times already. Something about it was calming. He often found himself fidgeting, especially when he felt anxious, and this was a way to redirect his restless energy.
Tight. Loose. Tight. Loose. Tight…
What a strange gift.
It would always fit him, she said, with such confidence. That tiny kender was always so full of herself, brimming with unchecked hubris. He laughed at her when she said she could take his lord in a fight. He would have also laughed if she tried and failed. Fuck around and find out. But so far she managed to escape death every time. Slippery little thing.
She said it would fit him, and it did.
When was the last time someone gave him a gift that was so perfectly tailored to his person? Something made just for him…
He can't remember.
All the finer things he possessed in life were things he ordered to be made, draining the little bit of inheritance and wage he called his own. Instinctively, Caradoc’s hand wandered up to his chest, hand searching for the pendant that was not there. Not while he was wearing her body. Her fingers clenched into a fist, clawing at the fabric. That had been the last precious gift Caradoc received in life. A symbol of devotion and trust and… He grit his teeth. Why didn’t Loren call for him? Why didn't he have any need for him anymore? Those brats were constantly seeking him out, even when they clearly were able to navigate their way without him. They just kept coming back, to hear from him, to share gossip, to hear his thoughts…
He lifted his other hand, staring at the ring again. In his agitation, he had pulled and twisted and twirled it around, until it had come loose.
Caradoc had half a mind to shake until it slipped off his finger, to send it flying into nowhere, where he would never have to look at it again.
He didn't.
Moments passed. A few gentle hand movements, and the ring sat snug against his skin once more.
Clearly, he was overthinking things. It was just a gift.
A comic about @pris-art 's character Nimako dealing with the shift in perspective caused by her patron (@lyricpersonarts ) and how Mallori (@deedoesdnd ) has become an anchor for her <3
While working I've been thinking on what makes K and Elymas different given that one is just the DnD edition of the other and that I write the core personality of both the same, like where exactly did they diverge? What traits were amplified? Which ones never developed?
While im sure there's a lot, the one I stumbled upon today is an innate nihilism of sorts? like it's not quite nihilism and im not versed enough in these terms to tell you what it is, but essentially he's sure that the worst possible outcome will come to pass UNLESS he interferes in some way. Very much a "Rage, rage against the dying light" kind of guy.
This mentality is what keeps him from giving up and pursuing every possible way out, but it can also get real dangerous if/when he runs out of options. If he can't do anything, he assumes that it can't get better instead of thinking that time or others might make a difference. While I write both with this trait, it's perceived lack of available options that differentiates the two.
In both of their cases, they're out of options entirely. However for K, he doesn't know everything going on in his situation. He's dealing with an unknown power with unknown limits and unknown solutions that was all kicked off by himself. This puts him in a position where he's sure that there has to be a way to fix things because there are so many unknowns, which means it's not a concrete no, and because he caused this therefore, there must be a way for him to fix this, right? right??? It eventually escalates to an obsession, normally I'd say delusion, but since there IS a fix at the end of the day, he's not exactly wrong.
If I had to pick a song to match it, would definitely be The Alchemist by Philmont. It's very on point, even to where the solution isn't exactly something K would have been able to figure out through traditional methods.
Elymas on the other hand was operating on concrete assumptions for the longest time, his parents were elves, and he was an aasimar. He could hunt for a way to extend his life for his entire life and his parents would still be in their prime. What he didn't account for was that war and how elves can still be killed. He didn't account for finding his home in ruins, but he didn't see any bodies (because he couldnt bring himself to check), so he started running on those same unknowns K was. Until he was told without a doubt, hey yeah, family is dead. Like yeah, he could bring them back to life, this is DnD after all, but the fact that he hadn't come home in time to help them fight was another failure in of itself. Despite the time limit being his own lifespan, he was still somehow alive and too late. Even if he brought them back, it wouldnt change that he was too late. All of this turning into him self-sabatoging cause at least that was something he was in control of- at least that was actually his fault and not just. Ignorance cause he'd made a poor uninformed decision years ago.
If I had to pick a song to match this, funnily I'd pick LET THE GRASS GROW by Ruel. It's a relatively calm song, not one full of anguish but rather, a contented resignation of sorts? I dunno, the emotions Elymas is deeling with are... hard to put into words, cause he doesnt want things to end but, he doesnt exactly has anything to keep going for and is well aware that he's not exactly the nicest guy
"seven hells. what's happened to him? he looks like a walking corpse."
for this challenge
graphic depictions of violence and gore
Year 963 Istarian Age.
Or, as the people had begun to call it: Year 1, Following the Cataclysm.
It had been days of continous despair and torment. The skies still were covered by the storm clouds raised after the fall of the Holy Istarian Empire.
Everything was ashes.
And yet, two Knights of Solamnia were tasked with ascertaining a matter of vital importance to the order (or what was left of it, at least).
What Loren Soth, Lord of Dargaard Keep, finally dead?
The trek up the Dargaard mountains had been torturous, especially with the amount of debris and dust that hadn't yet settled. But they persevered, and finally found the entrance.
It was... terrifying. A desolate remain of what was, just barely a month ago, a feat of engineering and wealth. Most of the rose marble was now charred black, so that instead of a sweet flower, the Keep now looked like the charred and rotten remains of one. The smell was reminding then of one as well. It made them both cough.
They weren't trying to be stealthy—it was practically impossible in full armour—but the silence amplified every minute noise that they'd make. Everything was eerily frozen, as if the atmosphere itself wanted them dead. Her companion next to her suddenly gasped to breathe—as if they had forgotten how to.
Shortly after, they heard a noise. Armour that wasn't theirs, and a guttural scream that made them shiver in place. 'Something was definitely alive still. If it's Soth, we will have to put him out of his misery'.
It was easier said than done, Lord Soth's strength had always been remarkable, his name alone enough to instil fear in the hearts of monsters and criminals. And yet, he was considered one of them now.
Maybe the Cataclysm had hurt him enough that they'd have a chance. If they were lucky, he was currently stuck underneath a boulder. If they weren't...
The other knight walked ahead, while she made sure that there was nothing behind them. Nobody had told her how it could have happened, why it seemed that from one day to the other Lord Soth had become an enemy of the Order. She knew about the Gladria's family accusation of murder but it seemed far-fetched. Completely uncharacteristic of him. Perhaps this was one mystery that would never be solved?
A gasp interrupted her thoughts, she found her companion stepping back from a pile of old armour on the pavement and—wait. That wasn't any armour, she recognised the helmet.
The body twitched. This time she also gasped. "Seven hells," she whispered to her companion, "what happened to him? Is he still alive? He looks like a walking corpse."
Indeed he was. On the ground below him she could plainly see an unbelievable amount of dried blood, and black roses seemingly sprouting or feeding from it. As she got closer the smell of burnt flesh became stronger too. It got bad enough that she wouldn't dare to touch him,or she'd throw up. "...Lord Soth, can you understand us? We are from the Knighthood, we are here for you." There was no reply.
Her eyes kept wandering, how was he alive? His gloves had been burnt through, so she could see that his fingers were mostly charcoal now, with bits of purplish blood dried around the bone, flecks of ash and soot stuck to it.
She moved closer. "Lord Soth, you must respond for your actions against the order." Her companion unsheathed their sword.
She placed her hands on the helmet—strangely warm—and started to pull it—!
Her companion heard the sound of flesh breaking off at the movement, like skin being scalped, something that told them that, likely, flesh was stuck to the metal itself. It was followed other sounds in quick succession: bone breaking and a cut-off scream.
Even from the ground, Soth had managed to kill the other knight, a broken arm and a broken neck where he reached with his other hand. But they could hear him hurting as well—they couldn't hear him breathe but—he sounded like he was sobbing, or trying to hide that he was. But Dargaard Keep, his tomb, amplified his pain first and foremost.
They had to leave.
They heard a screech of pain that sounded inhuman, and as they were running away, heavy footsteps were coming closer. And he spoke, noise reverberating from within his armour and outwards, echoing in the entire Keep, and they were sure that even ghosts would be afraid of it.
It didn't sound alive.
"You run, coward? Fight me—" The one who was once a man spoke—"Fight me in a duel, as your Order has taught you! Coward! Draw your sword!"
They couldn't outrun him, and even the panicked energy they were feeling couldn't help them. They swivelled around, drawing their greatsword.
They knew that if they fought Lord Soth in battle, they would die.
But there was no other possibility. The decision had been made for them.
They held their head high, though some tears had started to pool in their eyes, and they could only blink them away. "I will fight your then, Lord of Dargaard Keep, honourably."
He stopped, and they both put themselves in the starting position for a duel. They had no testimony, but there was no need to. It would be a duel to the death.
At the first blow, they managed to parry, though the strength with which it was given made them stumble several feet backward. Another hit from Loren made their armour dent, and they coughed in pain, clutching the sword, but barely keeping themselves upright.
Another blow, and although their blade met his, they weren't strong enough to stop it. It sliced the small space between the helmet and their shoulder, a spot usually difficult to reach.
'They went down in only a few minutes' they thought, while feeling the blood spurt from their neck and quickly draining them of energy.
They slumped to the ground. "Est Sularus oth Mithas". They whispered with the last of their life, looking right back at red, burning eyes. Eyes of a monster, eyes of a demon.
They managed to last a few minutes, against Lord Loren Soth.
and my revenge for you!! let's give it up for our favourite forgetful god!!
context: kay kept throwing versions of the letters into the fire to destroy them, but sirrion thought that they were doing it to send them. and unfortunately. sirrion is not a messenger god
28. "your dress/tunic is ripped. i'll mend it for you." Caradoc & Mal? :3
for the challenge
*note: this did not actually happen in the campaign, but it might have. tbh, something similar might still happen, that is up to you. Set during session 43.
this is another lengthy one!
Another scorching-hot day in the Wastes had finally ended. The group was now finishing up the tents and setting up their nightly watches, still slightly disturbed by the purple worm carcass they'd found while escaping from Wakenreth.
Kay was preparing for rest, still keeping an eye out for possible dangers. Though tonight it didn't look like much more than small animals were going to disturb them, they still remained weary. Sitting at the far edge of the camp their nerves were frazzled ever since leaving the elven tower. Danger could reach them from anywhere. Even their teammates.
Nimako was heating up some tea with a few of the wild berries she'd found days earlier. It wasn't exactly the best she ever had, but the sweet flavour helped a lot in raising her spirits, it reminded her of a simpler time before the war reacher her... a time she could not quite remember. But thinking of back then, however long it had been, gave her a sense of security, despite the lack of faces and names.
She was starting to get used to it.
Nevertheless! She was planning on sharing the wild berry tea with the others... but she would do it tomorrow. First drink, then go to sleep.
Mallori would join her soon.
The kender in question had just approached Erei. "I want to talk to Caradoc."
She could see that the two were having some kind of mental conversation, with Erei often saying words out loud instead of in their mind. But quickly enough, Mal saw Erei's posture change.
It was easy to notice: usually playful, it now gained a certain tenseness and rigidity; they held their head higher with a look of superiority, much more noble than Erei had ever tried to look. He crossed his arms. "So, did you think about my offer?"
She did, and today added the straw that broke the camel's back, so she accepted the offer. Perhaps the ghost could help her contact her dead friends and in exchange she would do...whatever her wanted.
It didn't matter what the cost was.
Mal almost lost track of the conversation. "—once I find a body of someone not part of the group, I'd have more freedom of movement. Just food for thought." At least they caught the end of that conversation.
Thinking about her companions, most of them good—great people, dutiful in and out of the monastery, broken apart and lifeless, it made her feel just a bit dead too. That darkness consuming her soul became every day something more real.
How were they supposed to get out of this?
...
Mallori's thoughts were interrupted by a shake of her shoulder—she immediately slipped her smile back on, assuming that Erei had exchanged back with Caradoc, and were now in control of their own body. She didn't want the young noble to meddle in her thoughts.
She didn't want anyone inside her mind, actually, especially when some nights she wished that she wasn't there either. "Yes?"
But her assumption stood corrected when she still saw that serious, vaguely judgemental expression still on Erei.The intonation was all Caradoc too, distinctly dated in his accent and wording. "I don't mean to presume," presuming was all he did, but he did not need her to know, "but you look quite exhausted."
"So? With the day we've had..."
"So I can see how you completely missed it, and I live to help, so." He tugged at her tunic, the outer layer very well ripped and torn. "That disgusting beast you fought ripped your clothes. I'll mend them for you."
Mal blinked. Why was he offering...?
The large eyeroll was, once again, very uncharacteristic on Lord Endryss' face.
Had she said it out loud? Was she so tired?
"I find that clothes last longer when they are well-cared for, and although the rags you are wearing could surely need a vast improvement, I struggle to believe that you wish for these to fall apart in the midst of combat." After a second, he added. "Consider it a show of good will, and an apology for the chaos if it matters to you."
Then she saw Caradoc make a very funny scrunched-up expression and just barely heard him whisper under his breath, "It's not, you romance-obsessed boy—"
It made her snort, typical Erei. "Sure. You can mend it for me." She smiled sweetly while handing him the fabric, and maybe part of it was real. Maybe. "I trust you with it." Then she left, only calling out 'goodnight Caradoc' as she did.
Caradoc huffed in annoyance, telling the excitable Ereicros in his mind to shut up, it wasn't cute. But to no avail.
He sighed, a little amused despite his complaints, and got permission from them to work throughout the night (even though he wouldn't have needed to). He didn't like to leave projects incomplete.
Luckily for him, it didn't take Erei a long time to fall into a slumber.
Caradoc was left with his own thoughts. Until the ambush happened.
"you may think him brutish, but i find him charming, in a way. is that queer to say?"
forrrr da challenge
"You may think him brutish, but I find him charming, in a way. Is that queer to say?"
His sparring companion, Federyc, shrugged in response. "Dunno Caradoc, he looks hot-headed to me. He's doing way more than anyone asked for, just to be the best. Sounds like a little too much to me."
They readied themselves for their fight, both of them holding a sparring weapon—nothing nearly as fancy or expensive as what the actual solamnian knights carried in battle—these were dulled, older blades that would hurt a little less (but not zero, Caradoc still struggled to sleep with the amount of cuts and bruises he'd gotten in the past few months).
After the first clash of blades, Caradoc was still too distracted not to talk. "Isn't that very admirable, actually? There is... something about Loren, not sure what—ow!" He'd received a pommel in the stomach. It took the wind out of his lungs. "Go easier next time, you bastard-born son of an unnamed father—" He wheezed, practically folded in two by the hit.
"Come on! It wasn't even that bad—ok, listen—don't bring my father into this—fine! We can stop!" The other young man sighed, slowly helping Caradoc up.
Neither of them—truly, none of the young trainees—were used to fighting with real weapons yet, so he might have put a little too much force, given how Caradoc was coughing and breathing hard. Looked painful. He felt a little bad.
"Let us just sit down for a moment." The instructor, a Lady of the order of the Crown, was on the other side of the field at the moment. They could afford a little slacking off.
Caradoc alternated glares to his mate and quick glances toward Loren. Then sighed. "Hopefully he didn't see that." It made Federyc raise an eyebrow. "Are you, trying to... impress him?"
He shook his head. "Of course not. No, what would I have to gain from impressing him?"
"Hm, don't know, perhaps his attention," he smirked, "or perhaps something different, like his—" He received an elbow in his arm before he could even finish.
He coughed. "Aren't you friends with him? Just ask him to spar with you or something, maybe you'll figure it out." He grumbled.
Federyc wouldn't understand, he didn't know that Caradoc, at first, had only approached Loren because he'd found out that his surname held power. Maybe Loren even knew it, and was just toying with him. He could never know, with high nobility.
"I am not interested in his combat prowess, nor good looks." He said, though a small flush still rose to his face.
But, most importantly, Caradoc didn't even know if the warm body of a man might charm him the same way a woman did. He wasn't about to find out with his his current only chance at social ascension.
Unless you started thinking about marriage soon, a voice that sounded suspiciously like his mother's spoke in his mind. Ugh. He pushed it back.
"I don't even know if I... or if he would... bed a man, to be crude." His side was still hurting badly, sure to form a bruise. He did not feel like searching for the most proper words at the moment.
"If that'd the problem..." Federyc's expression morphed back into a smirk. "Want to try tonight? No strings attached. Then, you can ask him: perfect plan."
Caradoc, usually so smooth, had been caught off guard now. "I... You want to...Me? I mean, you should be honoured—" A blink, "...sure, sure. I will—" He looked away.
"Don't worry, I can find you, I don't mind. I won't even care if you talk about him during—ow!" Federyc yelped, this time an actual punch hit him square in the face.
Caradoc used the momentum from the punch to yank at the collar of Federyc's shirt, threatening, holding on more tightly than necessary. "Tell him a single word of this, and you will find your tongue gifted back to you in a box, darling."
Federyc nodded energetically, afraid but also somewhat impressed. "Not even the wind will hear of it. On my honour."
Caradoc let go.
Federyc didn't mind. He didn't care about Loren Soth, he had only been wanting to get to Caradoc for a while now.
A minute later, they saw their instructor approaching, so they stood up, going back to sparring.
I am trying to read through the prompts but all of them are interesting and keep my attention. So here. 2.
"i can't do that. i don't know how! and don't tell me you'll show me, because i'll still just make a great fool of myself."
for this challenge
A door being opened, and a large sigh right after. "Really? You moved them just the other day, why don't you just stop?" It was the middle of the night, Loren had been notified of strange noises coming from his seneschal's wing of the castle. And so he went to investigate.
He found his trusted companion in the middle of rearranging furniture in the corridor. Again.
"I can't do that. I don't know how!"
"It's simple—just do as—" He was rudely interrupted—"don't say you'll show me, because I'll still just make a great fool of myself when I end up doing the same thing next week."
Loren looked at him with an incredulous expression. "I cannot understand you sometimes," he gestured in exasperation, "in the middle of the night? You scared a servant and they woke me up for this. And it cannot wait until morning? Were you afraid that the furniture will somehow walk out the window otherwise?"
Caradoc finally removed his hands from the side table. He ran a hand down his face, answering with a low voice. "I couldn't sleep—I couldn't sleep until I did this. That's all."
Caradoc seemed guilty, he couldn't quite tell in the darkness of the corridor. He felt some pity. "We can ask Istvan to check on you tomorrow? Or perhaps call someone who knows how to recognise curses—no, do not interrupt me—we have to find a way to fix this habit of yours. It's fine as long as it's cutlery or whatever else you do, but this is too much don't you think?"
His seneschal shrugged. "You can try, not like it worked the first dozen times my family did."
Silence occupied the castle for a few moments. Caradoc cleared his voice. "I did not mean to interrupt your sleep, my Lord, it won't happen again." He said, already fearing the hells it would bring upon his mind to ignore that constant, nagging feeling.
In certain moments, it made him think that the guilt for the lives he'd taken had finally come knocking, but no. It was always something inconsequential that suddenly mattered the world to him.
Like how if he didn't move the furniture to the other side of the hallway, he might have died in his sleep. And Caradoc was a coward, he didn't want to die, so he did it.
47. For Korinne (Caradoc and/or Soth): "you waste your breath on me. i haven't the time for you and your flowery words."
>:3
for this challenge
"—You waste your breath on me. I haven't the time for you and your flowery words."
Caradoc shut right up.
"I have no intention of marrying you, there is no need for 'fairest lady' this, or 'most enchanting' that. I am looking for a husband of note, someone courageous." Korinne looked down on him, fully confident in her status. "I have never heard of your family's name, and I do not believe that I ever read of any grand gesture in your name."
Caradoc sighed internally, trying to figure out how to tell her without interrupting her charade or being rude. "My lady, I do not mean any offense—it is not me that is looking for you, you see, it is my friend, Loren Soth, soon to become Knight of the Rose."
Only then her eyes glinted with interest. "House Soth, you say?"
Of course his name would make her interested. Dames did not look for nobodies to marry, especially if they weren't Knights. They had a position to uphold. Caradoc would probably have to think about marriage for himself one day too. Loren was already asking him about it...
"Of course, I wouldn't dare ask for your time otherwise. I am only a messenger. He wrote you a letter and greatly hopes that you will reply." He handed her the envelope. "I will take my leave now."
The beautiful woman thanked him (it was the minimum, really) and then he left.
Being part of the lower nobility was so degrading. Perhaps he should consider marriage only for that. He did not hold much interest in it otherwise.
47. For Korinne (with Caradoc or Soth): "you waste your breath on me. i haven't the time for you and your flowery words."
14. For Caradoc: "if i kiss you, will you scream?"
Have fun >:3
for this challenge
Prompt 14. I changed it slightly from what you probably had in mind, but you'll see
Silence.
Silence.
Silence. It was getting very boring.
At last, their voice called out to him. "Hey, Caradoc?" He turned to look at Adie, with no particular look on his face. "If I kiss you, will you scream?" They asked with a small smirk.
What?
He schooled his expression back into indifference, then scoffed. "Of course not, who do you think I am?"
They didn't reply immediately, because of course they didn't. Adie always had this calculating stare. Whichever the emotion they were sporting, he would often catch a glint in their eye, something that told him "I already knew how to reply to you before you even asked."
"Oh, I'd love to know," they waved a hand around, "who are you really?" They seemed genuinely curious (and still he didn't know if the curiosity was real or not).
He wasn't sure how to reply to them, it probably showed, because they smiled like just they won a game he wasn't privy to. So he decided to change the subject. "Why did you ask anyway, are you offering?" He copied their smile right back, "wouldn't mind."
A soft laugh came from the strange commander. "Is that so? We'll see about that kiss then, when you deserve it."
It made Caradoc splutter. "Do you think I am some kind of dog?! Looking for—for a reward?! Because—!" He ended up not finishing the sentence because their soft laugh reverberated once again in the non-physical space between them. They looked at him with those mesmerising green eyes, suddenly a tad too close (he'd never figured out how to warp this space like they did).
He searched for any hint of—anything, emotion, in their expression, but when they wanted, they were like a brick wall.
Finally the stare let up, they gave him a gentle slap on the side of his head and turned around. "I've got to talk to Elymas, don't leave while I'm gone!" And with a wink, they disappeared.
Every conversation with Adie left him more confused than how he started.
"i pray for you. truthfully, i don't even believe in the gods anymore. but i pray for you regardless."
from this challenge
"I pray for you. Truthfully, I don't even believe in the Gods anymore," She said, with a weak breath, "but I pray for you regardless."
Korinne's bloodshot eyes weren't moving from the bundle on the bed, still held tight within her arms. She knew that something was terribly wrong with this child, but it did not matter, she continued to whisper small prayers and hum sacred music. Perhaps his appearance would change even if she faked her devotion? Or maybe, that was exactly the reason why he looked more devil than human.
Her voice was surprisingly steady, but her hands carried a heavy tremble as she caressed the face of her child.
"Oh, what will he do to you?" She asked no one. After Loren saw him, he simply stormed out, left her alone to care for the newborn the entire day.
She thought that maybe she could explain what happened to her husband, if only he showed up. And yet, something told her that it wasn't going to work.
So her prayers continued, until she heard steps outside her door in the middle of the night.
