In the coastal city of Alu Lyth, four unlikely heroes find themselves drawn into events far greater than they could have dreamed. Whether their union was mere circumstance or some trick of destiny, and whether they will rise as champions or fall into the obscurity of defeat, rests on the whims of the dice.
While it would be a stretch to say "happy" pride given the state of the world, the sentiment remains the same. We will be ourselves and live our truth, in spite of all of the forces in the world currently working against us.
Your heart's a vine that I've bled trying to climb
Yeah, you're making a ruin of me
Try to survive, keep my spirit alive
But like a knife in the woods
Yeah, you hunt down the good in me
-The Good In Me
Have some cult brainwashing situationship symbolism, as a treat. Is this what the kids call "toxic yuri"?
Last session was eventful! We got the long awaited return of Igraine, sporting a new getup that definitely isn't indicative of her negative body image, why would you assume that? =D
We also finally got to meet the missing Princess Odette, paying off foreshadowing and setup that I've been planting literally since Session One. I'm sure she and the party will be great friends. ^^
Aaaand done! Have some solidarity between two trans descendants of two dragons. < 3
Random fun fact because I overthink my OCs; Urycis is entirely uninterested in top surgery. He mostly only binds to "pass" in public and because it makes the harness for his hidden knives fit better, but otherwise experiences no chest dysphoria.
I wanted to do some art for Trans Day of Visibility, but alas I had work all day and I am a slow turtle at drawing, so just the sketch took the rest of the evening. Posting the WIP now while it's still timely, and I'll upload the finished drawing later.
I asked Tiger which of my Thrrasir gender rebels I should draw, and she happened to pick the two dragon-blooded criminals who are on the bad side of the same imperialist regime. Who am I to turn down a good theme? And considering both of them are pan as well as trans, they're basically living the "Be Gay Do Crime" meme, ha.
I heard this song and it was giving me massive Ishvi vibes, and so I had to do some art, lol. They go super ham on their Oath of Revelry, thriving on being the center of attention and the life of the party. ...This definitely isn't a form of overcompensation for rejection sensitivity thanks to their neurodivergent struggles growing up. >o> <o<
Been a while since I drew one of the Eskharan gods, but this one in particular is long overdue since they're pretty story relevant. This is Tuo, the god of law and judgment. Tuo is responsible for maintaining the order of the universe, upholding the boundaries between the planes, and judging the souls of the deceased to chose their destination in the afterlife. The pitcher around their neck contains wine as a libation for the dead, and it is said that drinking Tuo's wine will cleanse a soul of the pain and trauma of life so that they can move on in peace. They pour so many libations so often that the feathers on their breast and legs are stained permanently crimson, giving a macabre illusion at a casual glance. Public statuary frequently substitutes the wine pitcher for a pair of scales, so as not to scare local children or encourage excess drinking.
Unfortunately, Tuo has been missing for quite some time, and with no one doing their job the world is starting to fall out of balanceā¦
Hey gang! This was just for fun and isn't a vitally necessary read, but if you're curious to know what Cyril was getting up to while the rest of the team was looking into the copies, here you go! This takes place shortly after the fight with the dolphets, while the gang still wasn't sure if Cyril had been replaced by a duplicate.
To say that Cyril was feeling down on himself would have been a vast understatement. Gods, what had gotten into him? How could he have been so impulsive, so stupid! All he'd done by rushing off was give the fake "Walker" exactly what he'd wanted out of Fen- a hostage to lure the guild into a trap.
They shouldn't have come after me. I don't deserve it.
And yet, somehow, despite being beaten bloody and concussed, Virga still wasn't blaming him. A failure on this scale would probably have seen the hags lashing him with torture spells for his incompetence, and yet she'd hugged him. He couldn't honestly remember if he'd ever been hugged before in his life.
It made him feel sick. All he'd wanted was to be able to actually contribute something. To feel like he was doing what he'd always been told was his life's purpose, to protect the Diadem and keep it from triggering another Cataclsym. And what did he have to show for it? Being a prisoner, yet again.
He proceeded through the odd door in the air, squinting momentarily until his eyes adjusted to the gloom beyond. He was once again in the wide, grand foyer of the "magnificent mansion" that he and Alaharel had been using as a safe space for him to practice magic without doing any damage or drawing attention. The foyer had a majestic staircase in the center, the floor tiled in marble and all of the banisters and trim made of different types of stone. A very dim light was all that illuminated the space, reminding Cyril very much of Xelorell.
Suaco seemed to be struggling though, when Cyril glanced around to see why he'd paused in the threshold after the door shut behind them. His pupils were opened so wide that there was barely any color around the black, and after a moment the sea elf remembered that humans didn't even have the basic darkvision that most elves did, let alone the stronger kind drow like Alaharel had. The shorter man probably could've lit the space with his fire, but he always seemed reluctant to use it for more than was strictly necessary.
"I could umā¦ light things?" Cyril offered, his voice still hoarse and raspy from crying. Suaco glanced up at him and raised a brow.
"I'd appreciate it," they agreed. "But if you try to flash blind meā¦"
He wiggled the fingers he was holding up to Cyril's back, which were still crackling with flame. The sea elf grimaced, but couldn't really blame them for the suspicion. Slowly he let the markings on his body brighten until they were fully illuminated, casting a soft blue light about the room. Some of the tension went out of Suaco and he huffed with obvious relief.
"I love that man, but he could stand to light this place better when it's going to have company," he said dryly.
"Mow!" the sound made both Cyril and Suaco jump, and the sea elf hissed as a spark jumped from the human's hand and licked the back of his head.
"Sorry, sorry," Suaco said hurriedly, "Stupid fire- Pucca!"
Sure enough, it seemed that Alaharel's familiar had been waiting at the top of the staircase for them. The plant cat trotted down the stairs, seemingly oblivious to the way Suaco was glowering at it for the scare. Once they got to the bottom of the stairs, they rounded the banister and pointed their tail at a door that Cyril was pretty sure hadn't been there the last couple times he and Alaharel had come.
"Ah, that must be the room Al's prepared for you," Suaco said. "Go on then, in you get.
Cyril moved forwards, reaching for the doorknob and pushing it open. It was even darker in this room, and stepping in as his eyes adjusted, Cyril was surprised to find his feet sinking into a floor that gave under him. He looked down to find that the marble tiles had transitioned into a floor made of ankle-deep sand. It wasn't exactly proper beach sand, it was far too clean and curiously devoid of shell-fragments, but nonetheless Cyril found an unconscious muscle in his back loosening at the familiarity.
And it wasn't just the sand- the whole room smelled sharply of brine and saltwater, and fully half of it was taken up by a pool. Eagerly Cyril kicked off his sandals and jogged towards the water, sitting at the edge and sticking his legs in up to the knees.
Gods- he'd missed this feeling. Staying dry for more than twelve hours or so at a time made his entire body start to feel itchy, like his skin was too tight. He didn't think it would hurt him significantly, but it just felt wrong. Fresh water like in the baths or the river was fine, as it went, but it wasn't the same as the salt water he'd lived in all twenty-five years of his life until now, the salt water his sea elf body was adapted to. It was more buoyant than fresh, and it had a fizzy tingle to it that he hadn't properly appreciated until he was suddenly spending most of his time on land, and the rest swimming in desalinated water.
Through the water he could see something- there were points of color beneath the surface, and the most of light in the room was coming from below the water- though there was a seafoam green crystal in the ceiling putting off a rippling light like you got just below the surface of the ocean. He glanced around to see if Suaco was going to say anything else, but the human had already closed the door behind him- and Cyril was unsurprised to see that there was no nob on the inside of the door. He was stuck.
Well, if none of the surfacers were going to be talking to him for a whileā¦
He pulled off his hoodie, folding it and setting it aside in the sand. Then he slid forwards, submerging fully into the cool water. The windpipe that lead to his lungs clamped shut, and the sealed skin slits that kept his gills moist when he was out of water opened. He swam down, and was shocked to find that Alaharel had spoken nothing less than the truth- at the bottom of the pool was a small but comfortable little bedroom. The light he'd seen was coming from some large glowing anemones hanging from the stone wall. At the sandy floor of the pool there was a low, heavy stone table with a sealskin lounging pillow that was presumably for eating at, coral and seagrass clinging to the edges of the floor, a chest with small puzzles and games to occupy himself, andā¦
ā¦Gods. Alaharel must've been reading accounts from one of the archaeologists that had snuck past the grung to explore Xelorel before being chased away. Merfolk slept like fish, hovering in place in the water; tritons used the same kind of flat beds as surfacers, but strapped themselves down to them so they wouldn't float away. And since becoming the grung, Cyril's own people slept like frogs, curled in on themselves and clinging to whatever surface they could find with their sticky toes.
But even if the cushions had long since rotted away, the buildings in Xelorel still had the beds the ancient sea elves had once used. They were essentially little niches smoothly hollowed out of stone or coral, just a little bigger than a person's body and meant to be lined on the inside with soft padding. Like an eel that lived in the small crevices in a reef, the ancient sea elves would shimmy inside and sleep securely without danger of drifting around the room.
It wasn't exact to the ones Cyril remembered seeing back home, but Alaharel had clearly tried to replicate the concept.
The sea elf's eyes began to sting again, and he kicked away from the bed niche, clenching his hands over his face. Why? Why was everyone being so kind to him? Even Alaharel, who'd been openly admonishing and actually acknowledged Cyril's monumental fuck-up when the party wouldn't, was still giving him as much comfort as he could in imprisonmentā¦
He didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve this!
*
Voices speaking in a tongue Cyril does not understand, urgent words he can't make out. His body is not his own, and he speaks back with the same unknown tongue, feeling a swelling tide of anxiety he has no context for.
Someone places a small object he can't quite identify- some sort of sphere?- into a flat metal receptacle. Above the metal, an expanse of black glass flickers to life, showing a wide expanse of sandā¦
And a crater. His stomach swoops- horror, but no surprise. He expected this, but its still a punch to see. And all around the crater, Cyril realizes with dawning horror that the golden-brown desert sand is dusted with a coating of off-white ashā¦
The sound of a bell from one of the walls of the pool jerked Cyril out of his fitful rest. He rubbed his eyes, feeling scarcely less tired than he'd done before closing them for a nap, though the niche bed at least was comfortable. He looked up at the bell he hadn't noticed before. He could just make out the white thread of a wire going from the bell up the surface- was it connected to the door maybe? Something to tell him someone else had come into the room?
One way to find out, he supposed. He kicked towards the water's surface, his gill slits closing tightly to seal some of the salt water into the cavities in his neck, and as he breached the surface, his windpipe relaxed back open.
Sure enough, sitting in the sand at the edge of the water was Alaharel, Pucca perched on the wizard's shoulder. His pupils were glimmering an odd yellow-green in the lights from within the pool, something he'd explained to Cyril before was a quirk of the anatomy in his eyes that helped give drow such powerful night vision.
"I take it that you are approving of your accommodations, then?"Alaharel remarked, sounding amused. Cyril ducked his head slightly, blowing bubbles into the water with his nose.
"It'sā¦ nice," he said finally. "It's really nice- nicer than you needed to do. Iā¦ I'm s-sorry, Iā¦"
"Done is done, Cyril," Alaharel replied, putting up a hand to silence the stammered apology. "I know neither of us is wanting this for you, but if it must be done I should like that you are comfortable. Frankly, the readiness with which you are agreeing to be confined is pretty convincing all on its own."
"Iā¦ wellā¦" Cyril sputtered, taken aback. He sighed, slowly pulling out of the water to sit in the sand beside the drow. "Everyone's right, aren't they? I fucked up, and now they can't trust I'm who I look like. Besides, with the way I've screwed things, it's probably better if I'm out of the way."
"And I am doubting a copy would be so self-effacing," Alaharel remarked mildly. "Especially one that is needing to keep up other ruses elsewhere in the city."
"Oh, thatā¦ yeah."
It was a good point, honestly. A fake would probably have been doing everything possible to get back into the team's good graces, because they weren't going to accomplish anything productive stuck in an inter-dimensional prison. Cyril wished that everyone else had thought of thatā¦ but couldn't really blame them for not. Besidesā¦
"Still better here than getting in the way," he said grimly.
"And why are you saying so?" Alaharel asked. Cyril shot him a flat look.
"Don't start with me, the others have already been doing it. The only reason I'm on the surface in this form at all was because Auntie told me to make sure Doryen, Virga, Tandy and Alyx actually returned the cube like they agreed to. When they lost it, I was ordered to go home, but I stayed because I thought it was my responsibility to help get it back. But name one single actually productive thing I've done to help since I've been here."
Alaharel tsked softly. "I wasn't going to dispute you. I just wonder- if the others don't think you need to be contributing, why do you?"
"Becauseā¦ because Iā¦" he sputtered. "I want to help! I don't want to just be sitting around while the world is ending, I want to be helping stop it! Weā¦"
He hissed squeezing his arms. "The sea elves failed before, to do anything that mattered. I see it so much in my dreams, all their efforts to save lives and hold back the destruction, and it never worked. All we could do was watch it all fall to pieces. And then we were entrusted to keep the diadem safe, and I still don't know why, my ancestors knew they were hopeless on their own, I guess I'm just following in their footsteps, five-thousand years and nothing's changed-"
"Cyril," Alaharel cut in sharply, and the sea elf flinched, freezing impulsively. His voice much gentler, the drow went on, "breathe, okay? Deep breaths. Slowly, in and out."
Cyril obeyed, but it was hard. He kept thinking of how badly he'd gotten the others hurt, how they'd had to come save his stupid ass from what he'd known was a trap. The pain and fury in Fen's eyes during their earlier argument.
And Virga's unqualified, total forgiveness.
"ā¦Why are all of you doing all of this for me?" the sea elf finally demanded. Alaharel sighed.
"I can only speak for myself," he said, abruptly dropping the accent and speaking in clear, fluent common. "But I've been where you are, Cyril. I've been in the place of being a child who only wanted to be loved and valued, who's eagerness to please was taken advantage of by elders who did not have my best interests at heart. I've been brainwashed into spilling innocent blood with the eager certainty that it was the right thing to do. And I've been abandoned by those who pretended to care for me, left adrift and without purpose in a world I didn't understand and was at times actively hostile to me because of what I'd done. Because I know what it is to be drowning in a crisis of identity and more guilt than any one person should have to shoulder in a lifetime."
Cyril's brows pinched, and he opened his mouth to ask a question, but Alaharel held up a palm for silence. "And no, I can't elaborate. Believe me, I would- I have no wish to hide my sins, because running from them doesn't make them go away. But the rune on my tongue will stop me if I try to say more than that."
The sea elf huffed. "Some loving caretakers, putting magic on you that'll hurt you if you tell people stuff they don't want you to."
Alaharel quirked a brow. "So says the man who flinched like he was expecting to be struck when I raised my voice."
"ā¦Okay, yeah, fair," Cyril admitted. "They didn't likeā¦ hit me, or anything? But sometimes if I really upset them they'd put me to sleep so Responsibility tortured me with my ancestor's memories, or cast spells to hurt me. Mostly when I was little- as I got older I got better at not provoking them."
"You molded yourself into what they wanted you to be," Alaharel said. "As most children do with their caretakers. And do I guess rightly when I surmise that one of the ways you could avoid being hurt was to do things for them? To be of use?"
"Wellā¦ well yeah," the sea elf agreed, frowning. "That's how the world works anyway, isn't it? You always have to be contributing something, or you don't get what you need to survive."
"How capitalist," Alaharel mused. "I won't lie, there are certainly people who view others that way. And those people are sacks of shit not worth our emotional energy."
Cyril bristled, an impulsive defensiveness coming over him at those words. Doryen and Virga were always a lot more tepid with their criticisms of the hags, at least to Cyril's face, though he privately suspected they felt similarly and were just too polite to be frank about it.
Alaharel correctly read the indignation on Cyril's face and raised a brow. "Of course you want to object. They were your parents, in every way that counted. Suaco and I were both also abducted from our homes when we were young, but we still knew our families and had that foundation of real love to build our sense of self on. I suspect based on what you've said that such was not the case for you?"
Cyril shrugged. "The Red Grung is the heir to the line of the original deal maker. And there's only ever one Red Grung at a time. Whoever my predecessor wasā¦"
Well. He didn't like to think about that. It didn't have great implications for his longevity. Though presumably only one of his parents had been the previous Red Grung, so the other might still be around somewhereā¦ or not, if the hags were worried he or she would try to see their child and distract him from his Purpose.
But that was and always had been part of the bargain- the very first ancestor who's memories were sealed in Responsibility hadn't lived much past the time it took to place that curse on the circlet and sire an heir to his bloodline. Shedding that shared blood had, so Cyril understood, been the final step to seal the pact with the hags. And given everything his ancestor had lived through, Cyril doubted it had taken all that much convincing to make him go through with it.
"My ancestor's descendants have never been children of love," Cyril finished with a huff. "We exist to serve a purpose."
"And without that love, you don't know how to give your existence meaning if you aren't fulfilling that purpose," Alaharel guessed.
"I guess," Cyril said, unsure how right that was without the context to know a difference.
"What about the Frostfire Alliance?" Alaharel asked. The memory of Virga, covered in blood, drawing him into a hug as he spluttered apologies, made Cyril's throat catch.
"They'reā¦ they're t-too nice," he stammered. "They shouldn't waste that on me."
"If they thought it was a waste, they wouldn't be investing the time," Alaharel replied. "They've made it abundantly clear that they will give no quarter to their enemies for small talk. They want you around."
Cyril felt flustered, and was tempted to do what he'd always done until now when conversations started making him feel things too strongly; hide his face; jump in the water; anything to escape the topic that was stirring up his emotions in a way he wasn't used to.
But clearly that wasn't helping anything. In spite of himself, he was getting emotionally invested in the Frostfire Alliance- look at how stupid he'd been today when Fen threatened to sabotage their fragile trust in him.
And even though it hadn't gained them anything, even though he was a dead weight to their mission, they'd come after him. They'd gotten themselves badly hurt coming after him.
Introspection wasn't something he was very good at. It was, in fact, a skill that he'd been specifically discouraged from cultivating. But if he was going to be stuck here by himself, with little to do but thinkā¦ maybe it was time to do some thinking.
*
It was hard to tell how much time was passing in the little pool room, but that wasn't something entirely alien to Cyril's experience. Days and nights in the ocean were only delineated as 'pitch black' and 'pretty freaking dark.' Every so often the mansion's unseen servants would come into the room with food for him, probably signaling meal times, but otherwise he was left to his contemplation and his magic practice.
He was mostly having to practice on his own, as Alaharel was helping with the impending break-in of the noble manor. Cyril was being kept deliberately in the dark about it considering he was still suspect and a potential information leak. It hurt that they didn't trust him- that much he'd definitely been able to nail down while he was alone. He'd done what he'd done in the first place because he was afraid of losing their trust, and as a result he'd, at least temporarily, lost it anyway.
But only because they weren't sure he was really himself. Before that concept had been suggested, they'd been ready to accept his mistake and forgive him. That went beyond the simple, general kindness he'd come to accept as part of their natures. They'd all, especially Tandy, been incredibly suspicious of him when he first joined them in his sea elf form. But even though Tandy had been nearly as badly hurt as Virga, they'd also seemed to just be glad to find Cyril alive. Theyā¦ liked him. And if he was being honest with himself, he liked them. And, now that he was mostly alone, he was realizing how much he actually did want and enjoy their company.
Certainly a few months ago he wouldn't have broken down crying with relief at the wholehearted acceptance Virga's hug represented.
And then, the Frostfire Alliance came for him, and everything went to pieces.
Virga was gone. She was gone. The one who'd forgiven him for getting her hurt, who'd held him while he cried, that probably hadn't actually been her at all.
And it was exactly like Fen said; his fault.
His fault.
His fault.
That moment that had forced him to do so much thinking, to realize how badly he wanted to reciprocate the kindness he'd been shownā¦ it had been a ruse. A manipulation. Just one more time somebody had used his loneliness against him to get something they wanted.
And the real Virga would probably hate him for what he'd done to her. She'd have to. Just like Fen hated him.
And he deserved it.
But he had to try and get her back. Maybe the real Virga wouldn't forgive him like the fake one had done, maybe she'd resent him like Fen didā¦ but either way, for the sake of the people who cared about her, he had to get her back. And he'd make the one who hurt her, who lied to him with her face, sorely regret it.
Please, for once in my life, let me not fuck this upā¦
I was having a deeply rough day yesterday, so I decided to be a good employee and write some self-indulgence on company time. That being the case this is pretty unpolished and not my best, but I had fun and that's what's important. Have some fluffy angst, if that oxymoron makes any sense. XD
Usually the guild members had to be careful about being seen together in public. Small cells were known to work together and be friendly- Alaharel and Jingle, of course, or Taless and Bay Porter. But as a larger bunch they would draw too much attention.
Public festivals and holidays, however, presented one of the few opportunities for them to interact in a casual setting without risking exposing their operations. Today in particular was Lammas, the Loaf Mass Festival. The guild was taking full advantage to celebrate with their friends openly, as most of the city poured into the River District.
Where better than the farmlands to hold a celebration to the harvest, after all?
Suaco still hadn't memorized all of these western holidays, though it probably didn't help that they'd spent the first four years of their time in Thrrasir living in the middle of the woods. The closest the Tsaltui Shehad had to Lammas was tsukimi, the moon viewing festival on the harvest moon, and it wasn't really all that similar.
Tanya, being a Thrrasir native, was well familiar with the local holidays, and had been showing Suaco the ropes since their return to civilization. He'd found that he wasn't fully alone in discovering the western holidays for the first time, though. Their guildmaster, Alaharel, had been living on the surface long enough to learn the local flavors, but had privately admitted to Suaco that he missed the celebrations of the Underdark.
Down there we don't have a proper day-night cycle, nor seasons as they're understood on the surface. Crops grow until they're ripe for harvest, and we plant them in staggered patterns so that there's always something coming ready to bring in. It's still kind of amazing to me, how society on the surface is built around when the right time is to plant, to tend, and to gather, and when none of those things can happen and you just have to wait out the return of the sun.
Suaco never would've considered himself an academic sort, but it was nice to listen to Al talk. He lit up when he really got going about something he was interested in. It was sweet, and stripped the years that rejection and loneliness had etched into his face.
As Tanya and Jingle were chattering eagerly with the farmer at the stall of whiskey they'd just stopped at, Suaco glanced around to where the drow in question was sitting on a low wall across the path. He was sharing a biscuit with his familiar, tearing off a piece and holding it out in his palm for the fae cat to delicately take. Pucca's tail swished and the drow chuckled, presumably at some silent comment his familiar had conveyed through their telepathic link. Then he took a hearty bite of the treat for himself. The crumbs lingered on his lips, bright against his dark skin, and Suaco found himself dropping his gaze as the temptation to swagger over and brush those crumbs away made his gut do somersaults.
Suaco hadn't even realized they'd stopped paying attention to the conversation between their companions until a thickly muscled arm impacted them gently in the shoulder. They jolted in surprise, looking up questioningly into the dancing oak-brown eyes of their partner, Tanya. The half-orc was looking back down at them with her eyes hooded, smirking.
"Yer so transparent, y'know that?" she mused, and they blushed hotly.
"I didn't say anything," he groused. She sniggered, and standing across from them so did the kenku Jingle.
"You are not needing to say anything, Coco," Jingle teased. "In fact is silence that is being to say plenty. We are seeing which way your eye goes."
He bit his tongue, face going even more red. Usually he was the one who did the teasing. It was just a relief that Tanya seemed more amused than angry. She'd have had every right to be. When she approved of the tryst between himself and the guildmaster, the pitch had been for exactly that- a tryst. Something casual, a bit of light fun. They- all three of them- had agreed to that.
Except that it seemed Suaco's head and their heart were not entirely in accord on that point.
He glanced in Alaharel's direction again self-consciously, only to find that at that exact moment the guildmaster had looked up towards him. Al's shoulders hitched and he looked away hurriedly, prompting a cackle from Jingle.
"Seems it is being mutual, hm? Why not go and be keeping him company? Neither of you is much for drinking anyway." She winked, lifting her own tankard meaningfully.
"That's because when I drink I start literally breathing fire," Suaco pointed out dryly. "Alcohol and fire dragons don't mix."
"Exactly," Tanya agreed genially, swatting him on the back so that he staggered a step- he was far from out of shape, but she easily outclassed even him in raw physical power. "The ladies will have our fun, ya go 'n have yers."
"Iā¦" lowering his voice he hissed, "Tanya, are you sure? Iā¦ this isn't what we agreed to-"
"And if I had any reason to worry, ya wouldn't be cross-checkin' my consent, would ya?" she pointed out. More gently she added, "I'm not insecure about the fact that ya caught feelings, my star. 'N gods know, the man likes ya back, even if he can't say so out loud. I can share- both in and out of bed."
This time Suaco was the one to thwack her, though they were grinning as they did so. "None of that tonight. If I'm actually going to have this conversation with him I don't want to send mixed signals."
"I'll put it on yer tab," she said, rolling her broad shoulders in a shrug. "Now stop making us wretch with yer longin' glances and git."
Suaco huffed softly out of his nose, but it was with a distinct sense of relief that he approached Alaharel. The drow saw him coming and smiled, shifting a little to indicate that the human could sit on his opposite side from Pucca.
"I couldn't be hearing what all was being said, but I was getting the impression fun was being made," he said, raising a brow. Suaco chuckled, taking a seat.
"Of me, not you," he assured his friend. "And you can drop the fakery, you know, your common's better than mine when you want it to be."
He shrugged. "Ah, but it is giving me comfort to be speaking this way. Less obvious it is being, that I am very educated in Common."
"And less likely people will guess you were taught it so well specifically you could blend in better as a spy," Suaco finished. "Even after two-hundred years, part of you is still afraid of these people."
"Can you blaming me?" the drow asked sadly. "The elves, the gnomes, and many others are living long enough to remember the war. To be resenting me for what I am, never mind what I did."
"Not at all," Suaco admitted, his fingers curling into fists in his lap. "If I'd had to live on the imperial mainland, I don't think I'd ever have felt safe, even before Iā¦"
Alaharel cast an understanding look Suaco's way. He knew, of course, about the crime that had gotten them chased from their homeland, and forced to flee to the opposite side of the planet. It was a story they shared with few, but in this as in so many things, they'd found an empathetic ear in their fellow exile.
They traced the intricate seam of their attush sleeve, looking down at their hands instead of Alaharel's face. "Iā¦ do hope that I'm someone you feel safe around, though."
Alaharel put a hand over the one Suaco was anxiously using to trace his sleeve. In a hushed tone he murmured, "Of course you are, Suaco. Never doubt it for a moment. I just don't know if I'm someone you should trust. There's so much I've done that you don't know about- maybe never will, much though I wish I could tell you."
They looked up at him with a frown. "Only because that damn spell stops you. And you know I'm no cherub either. It's not for nothing that the shoguns want me hanged."
He twisted his hand around to clasp his fingers through Alaharel's mottled purple and white ones. Stridently, he went on, "We were abducted as children, Al. Stolen from our homes by systems designed to take advantage of the desperation of our families and mold us into perfect toy soldiers. I'm not better than you because my abusers were so unsubtle in their cruelty that I woke up to the puppet strings sooner than you did."
Alaharel sighed, lifting a hand to the blue feather on his hat. "I justā¦ it feels like anyone who's ever depended on me ends up suffering for it. I don't want that for you. Not when I can't even speak my heart to you, to tell you how much I care."
Suaco punched the drow on the upper arm so that he yelped, then flexed with a wry smile. "I can look after myself, Mother. I'm not one of your students or one of your spies." More softly they added, "I'm your equal. Or at least, I want to be, if you want it too. You don't have to do everything on your own, y'know?"
Alaharel smiled sheepishly. "This is why I didn't want to take Speakeasy's position. I take too much on my own shoulders, and I can never seem to keep the people Iā¦ value safe."
"We've all lost people we love, Al," Suaco replied, emphasizing the word that Alaharel's curse wouldn't let him say out loud. "Tanya's kids, your spies, Jingle's siblings, my mother- this world is shit and life is unfair. But we find reasons to keep living. Tanya is one of my reasons; if you're okay with it, I'd like very much for you to join her."
The drow shivered. "Iā¦ Maybe you're right. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, not to always be the one in charge. To have equals."
"I mean, we already know you were attracted to me because I was strong enough to put you in your place," Suaco teased with a grin. "You're all officer-guildmaster at Sanctuary, but between the sheets you purr like a kitten when you're told what to do."
He laughed, the last of the old grief fading from his eyes. "You're an asshole, Suaco. But luckily for you, 'asshole' happens to be exactly my type."
Suaco brushed a finger along Alaharel's chin. "I'm the asshole? We agreed to be friends with benefits and you went and wooed me. That was very unfair of you."
Alaharel didn't reply with words, catching Suaco's hand and planting a gentle kiss on their palm. There was a yearning behind his golden eyes, the stifled frustration of everything he wanted desperately to say, but could not without ruining the moment.
Suaco gently plucked the hat from the drow's head, setting it aside and kissing him full on the mouth. The drow melted against them, his unspoken feelings loud and clear in the fervor behind his kiss and the possessive way his fingers clasped in Suaco's.
When they pulled away, Suaco winked. "I love you, too."
Alaharel's breath caught, and he slumped his forehead against Suaco's shoulder with a strangled whimper that was somehow both frustration and release.
Decided to knock together a proper reference for Ishvi's art fight profile, since a lot of folks seemed to be confused about what was going on with their outfit, especially the skirt. Hopefully this is easier to work from!
=) Some quote previews for the arc of the story coming up in 2026. The exact things that are said are, of course, subject to change, but the general sentiments should stay intact. But who's saying what, and what's the context? Guess you'll have to wait and see.
Ahh this is incredible!! You captured him perfectly, I love the texture, and of course the fact it's animated and lit is amazing!! And the more I look, the more details I notice, the time and care this must have taken is awesome!! Thank you so much!!
DnD is BACK today after a hiatus - time for Doryen to get back to work!! Those familiar with my lizardfolk sorcerer may notice a difference here - in our second to last session, my sparklelizard was turned blue by one of his wild magic surges. Bad news for Doryen, this won't just fade away like most of his surges! Though between doppelgangers, secret information getting out, and an upcoming heist, that's kind of the least of Doryen's problems right now!
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What actually happened between Fen and Cyril during the last session?
The half-elf was finishing up a cup of coffee in front of the cat cafe with a sigh. Things were getting more and more tense, it seemed. They were wracking their brains for any clue as to who might have been responsible for the perfume smell on the crossbow bolt, but the cold hard truth was that there were just too many candidates. Without having been with Virga constantly to know who all she'd met since coming to the city, they couldn't guess.
"Hey!" a familiar rough, grating voice called, making Fen's hackles immediately go up. "Hey, Fen!"
Cyril. His voice was impossible to mistake. What in all the gods names did he want? Fen didn't think they'd exchanged three words in a row except when they and Jingle agreed to head out looking for the Frostfire Alliance at the dragonborn town. Even then, Fen had done their level best to talk mostly with Jingle, only acknowledging Cyril when they absolutely had to. The sea elf still hadn't expressed any remorse for his actions as a grung, and Fen couldn't quite fathom how easily and casually the adventurers accepted him.
Reluctantly, Fen looked up from the cafe table to the blue-ish white face looking down at him. Cyril's facial expressions were never particularly hard to read- his brows were pinched, and his mouth was twisted in a way that suggested he was confused and a little uneasy.
He hesitated a beat, and Fen sighed, planting their elbows on the table. "Well? What is it you want?"
"I was on my way to the salvage place I've been working at," he explained. "Iā¦ I saw your friend. The wood elf from the dragonborn town."
Fen gaped, their eyebrows shooting upwards. "Walker? No, he's out with Ishvi looking for the princess, he wouldn't be back so soon. It must've been someone else, some other wood elf."
"No, it was the same guy," Cyril insisted. "He called out to get my attention, and he mentioned you by name."
"Wha- but that'sā¦" Even an impostor deliberately impersonating the prince shouldn't have been able to identify Fen as being connected to Walker Oakblood. The only people who knew about their relationship were Ishvi, Virga, and Doryen. Even Cyril, as he'd demonstrated, only knew that Fen and Walker were "friends."
"Yeah, didn't sit right with me either," Cyril said, folding his arms and hunching his shoulders uncomfortably. "Especially with the way Virga and the rest were talking about seeing that asshole knight in two places at once. He said he had something important to tell you, and to meet him at the quarry on the edge of town."
Fen gritted their teeth. Something was definitely not right here. How could an impostor know about their relationship with Wagner? Okay, it was just barely possible someone had seen them out and about with Walker when the prince was in disguise. But to have seen that, know exactly who Fen was, remember it over a year later and figure the relationship was still ongoing despite having seen neither of them together in all that time, and know Fen was back in Fae Shanta?
"You're lying," they growled. Cyril blinked, their hairless brows pinching, and Fen pressed, "You're lying. This is some sort of trick."
"I mean, yes clearly it's a trick," Cyril agreed with a shrug. "I'm not disputing that-"
"It's your trick, I'm not stupid," Fen interrupted, lurching to their feet. Cyril took a step back sharply, and the half-elf swung their arm in a slashing gesture. "You used me against the others once before and you're trying to do it again!"
The sea elf groaned. "Look, what happened before was bad, I get it- we thought you were in cahoots with the adventurers and the university that stole the cube from Xelorell. We thought you were actively helping them keep it from us to unleash the diadem. We were wrong, and I shouldn't have assumed."
"You almost killed me!" Fen hissed, painfully conscious of all of the people on the street who were pausing as they walked by to stare. "You brainwashed me into the clutches of a giant octopus that tried to drown me! This wasn't some innocent little misunderstanding, you tried to murder me, and you can't just dismiss that!"
"It wasn't supposed to- the adventurers were supposed to trade us the cube!" Cyril argued in a similar undertone, looking flustered and frustrated. "You weren't supposed to die!"
"And when they refused, what then?" Fen demanded, turning away. "Was your octopus going to let me go when they called your bluff? Or were you just going to let me drown to send a message?"
Cyril was quiet after that, and his silence was answer enough. Fen glanced over their shoulder and saw that his webbed hands were clenched around his upper arms, and his gaze was turned down and to the side.
"ā¦Okay. You're right," he said finally. "You're right. We didn't think a bunch of goody-two-shoes would really risk their friend dying, and we had no plan for if they did. And knowing Auntie Gil, yeah she'd have ordered me to let you drown to make the point that you can't cheat her bargains. And I would've followed orders, because I always did."
He sighed slowly through his nose. "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry."
"You can eat your 'sorry,'" Fen snapped, anger spiking in them. Did he really think that he could make it all okay, just like that? "You're out here trying to trick me into a dangerous situation again so you can use me, again."
Cyril's face fell, and he shook his head. "But I'm not!"
"Then why tell me about this?" Fen demanded. "Why not tell the Frostfire Alliance?"
"Because Walker's your friend, and I thought you would like to know!" Cyril insisted. "I figured if anybody would know if it's actually strange for him to be in the city, you would! Agrios spare me, he jumped into your arms the minute he saw you!"
Fen felt their face heat a bit, but clenched their fists and shook their head. "No. You were hoping I'd be so frantic to save him that I'd rush right into your little trap, or that I'd be so angry someone's impersonating him that'd I'd do the same thing. Well I'm not buying it, and I'll be sure to tell Virga, Doryen and the rest you can't be trusted."
"But I-" Cyril looked genuinely panicked now, and serve him right. His long con was about to collapse around his ears.
Then, to Fen's astonishment, the elf shouted, "Fine! Fine, turn them against me! You lot clearly don't trust me enough to give me something helpful to do so I can prove I'm on your side, so what difference does it make if th-they hate me?"
Now people all over the street were jumping back and staring, but Cyril didn't seem to notice or care, even as his glowing markings were pulsing with his emotions. He blinked hard, a tear slipping down his cheek. "If I'm a bad person and I can't change that, fine. I'll make myself useful and be the sacrificial lamb that springs the damn trap." He turned on his heel, adding, "After all, no one will miss me. You'll make sure of that, right? And it's o-only what I deserve."
Fen gaped, part of them so furious that they wanted to deck Cyril, but another part of them feeling a squirming of uncertainty and guilt.
Before they could decide what to do, which impulse to act on, the sea elf bolted. As he rounded the corner, Fen realized that the tear they'd seen hadn't been a one off- he was still crying.
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