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@dunerover
AS WILD AND RECKLESS AS THUNDER OVER THE LAND—
Selective, independent writing/RP blog for Zandi, tiefling fighter/rogue and thrill-seeking drifter. An original character based in Dungeons and Dragons. 21+. Carrd | Headcanon | Memes | Pin Board | Banner art by me!
"I missed everybody messin' with Pooch's name and they took all the good ones? Aw."
∘˙○˚.• a handful of real charmers
@amothersvow @helmworn @crosaidi
zandi was nervous, which was to be expected. essek needed to be as delicate as possible. maybe they wouldn't even be able to do this tonight, and that would be fine. maybe zandi would need more time to work himself up to the idea. but the prince had years of experience reading people, and something was triggering that sense. was this something more than nerves?
essek lifted the wand. ❝ this will take readings, better than my own hands can divine. ❞ he nodded at the bowl. ❝ and this will allow me to pour over the findings in detail. in their current state, neither have the capability to influence you. only to observe. ❞ he hoped that would calm zandi somewhat. no action tonight, only preparation. ❝ regardless, if you wish to stop at any point, i will do so without question. ❞
he didn't know what it was like to have such a tether, but he intimately understood the value of personal boundaries. the courts dealt plentifully in passive aggression, and they'd picked up on the fact that essek disliked touch from people he wasn't comfortable with. soon enough, essek was inundated by little touches he couldn't refuse without causing a scene. he deserved their contempt, but he still had a few hands he'd like to cut off.
"Right. Yeah. Makes sense." replied Zandi absently, though his eyes tracked the wand tip. Most of the words glided through his ears without sticking. 'To observe' and 'to influence' swirled around each other over and over as they bickered over which one of them should matter. The smell of cooked spices wafting faintly from under the cloche turned his guts—
('So,' said the woman impatiently, 'I imagine he'll be makin' off with with whatever it is any day now. 'Fore someone else gets wise to it.')
('Good riddance, then. I'm certainly not losin' anything once he's stopped loomin' 'round. Who cares what it is?')
There were always rumors in town. Nothing to wring hands over.
Who cares?
Zandi rolled his shoulders, bouncing restlessly on his heels. Good to loosen up before stepping off an edge. "Heh, so—better sit down then, huh?"
And with a spring in his step split between anxiety and mettle (bravery and fear had a lot in common—energy, tuned by which way you ran), he cut the gap between them, spun around to face Essek and planted on the bed with a force that bounced himself and whatever else sat on it. In his eyes, pinprick sparks spat into the black around his fiery irises like distant fires against the night.
Essek looked so calm. Prepared, but not unsettlingly eager. Not too excited.
Would he, though?
"But hey, if you find a lock or a thin spot on the thing while you're doin' that anyway, you can just, uh—"
"—take it off. I won't miss it."
𝐔𝐍𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐒𝐊𝐒 // 𝐚𝐥𝘄𝐚𝘆𝘀 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐞𝐩𝘁𝐢𝐧𝐠 .
▌@dunerover sent :
No more staring from across camp; Zandi waltzed right up to ask. "Ey, Clicks. Those things, uh—" Zandi traced down and around the corners of his own mouth—mimicking the arcs on Cricket's face. “What are those?”
Hard to make out where the Thri-kreen's eyes followed to through thick cherry lenses, yet it was almost guessable he monitored Zandi's brush against his own jaw. Soon, Cricket picked up on the placement, pointing towards his own face & the markings next to his mouth.
❝ Ah, those are pokkets. ❞ Not in the widest sense, ❝ My mandibles are beneath there. I would show you but, in my experience, people dislike the sight. They are visible whenever I indulge in nutrition. ❞ There was little shame in his voice. He came to peace with the fact he was different from both his tribes people & the common folk outside the desert. Thri-kreen did not have noticeable pockets, mandibles out at all times ; humanoids tend to have only teeth. It felt . . . awkward, if not uneasy, to eat alongside his companions, for the simple act of these things coming out & causing so much discomfort.
❝ You kan definitely feel the difference in texture on the skin, nonetheless. ❞ Cricket was so free as to take the tiefling's hand & guiding his fingers over mentioned arcs on the corner of his mouth, completely eradicating the concept of personal space. ❝ It's softer there. ❞
Zandi gave a small backward twitch of surprise, his ears snapping forward. He had not expected such a quick, wide crack between boundaries. Not that Cricket ever missed a chance to be bizarre. And he can't say he hadn't wanted to touch them. So, sure. This worked.
"Yeah?" He gently pushed his fingertips against the slivers, pressing flesh around Cricket's face in search of further weirdness. Had to be the mandibles, what he was feeling beneath this softer membrane—something firm that wasn't the right shape to be teeth. He recognized, somewhat, the texture of the 'pockets' themselves; patches on the sides of certain selilla larvae could feel something like this in the weeks before they cocooned, a marker of where they'd sprout extra wings. On a man's face, though... surreal.
An upward twitch pulled at the corner of his own lips as his head tipped vaguely sideways. He leaned closer, squinting as if trying to peer into what little of any openings he could identify. "Oh. Oh, yeah. Yeah, that's weird. And that's part of your, uh... theen-keen side?"
∘˙○˚.• tripped and spilled three entire Men
@chainedbychoice @fortunefeather @swarmcall
∘˙○˚.• immolate me throw me in the trash, G.O.M.D Girls On My Dash
@bloodyarn @bloodtwin @ceruleanscarred
@dunerover,
essek was still fussing over his preparations, though it was needless at this point. the bed was ready so zandi would be comfortable if the examination took over an hour. his tools were charged — an amethyst tipped wand and a silver scrying bowl. essek had even ordered some dinner in case zandi hadn't eaten. he knew that not only was this process important, but it was likely incredibly personal and sensitive. he wanted the tiefling to be as comfortable as possible.
he was fluffing the pillows when the door opened. essek turned, a genuine smile on his face. no more worrying. now, their work could begin. ❝ i hope you had a pleasant time, ❞ he said. essek nodded at the cloche on the bedside table. ❝ i ordered us some food, if you are hungry. i am told the mashed potatoes are the house favorite. ❞
Zandi stopped suddenly in the doorway, mid-tired massage of his shoulder with the opposite hand. As if he was surprised Essek was here, and not huddled away in his own lodgings somewhere.
Doing whatever he was trying to do.
('Don't see a lot of drow like that here,' he'd heard a sailor say to his companion over his flagon. Zandi didn't look 'round, but turned an ear toward him. 'Don't they dislike the sun?')
Right. They'd talked about this. Zandi had tried so hard not to be anxious over breakfast. Laughing louder helped, jokes and conversation helped, a full mouth and a fuller belly helped. He wouldn't say he was trying to fool anyone, least of all Essek. But he couldn't stomach his vulnerability and his eggs at the same time, so he had to wash it down with mania.
He used to hope he'd eventually forget it was there, his little hellish collar from the night the world came back. Like an old scar he'd stop feeling. Couldn't even see it, if you didn't know how to make it show. But someone used it against him again, and it was a problem again, and who knows what they'd make him do if it happened again, and it can't happen again, and he would die before letting it happen again—
('Interestin' reason for this one pokin' around,' said a woman beside him in response. '''Essk' or some such is the name, I hear. Some royal breakaway on a mission.')
Essek, 'royal breakaway', had seen right to the heart of it. He wore that even, guarded smile—Zandi always thought it looked almost shy—and told him it was just a study. More like a check-up. And he was, after all, a very experienced mage. Everything had an answer, even this, he'd said.
Zandi had trusted it, despite himself. He liked Essek. Essek seemed to like Zandi. They'd traveled together a while, protected each other. 'Course Essek wanted to help.
But the gnawing stayed as the appointment loomed, so Zandi went for a drink. A long one. Not like him to go to a bar alone and stay alone, but the mingling spirit wasn't coming to him like it usually did, so he thought he'd just watch and listen until the heady atmosphere of alcohol-ed patrons did its thing. People always had rumors about newcomers and pass-throughs in town, no matter which one it was. Zandi had been the subject of plenty. Many were only half as flattering as what he'd heard that night, if twice as funny. Nothing to wring hands over.
('Mission? Like what?')
('Nothin' legal, I'm sure. Or he'd have his friends with 'im.)
(What about that tiefling? Not friends?')
(Please. One of these learned types, all tall 'n important, mucking about in slums and common rooms with devil spawn? Use yer head, Boris. He's found what he's looking for, hasn't he? Somethin' powerful, at least.')
('So what?')
So what?
Zandi had stood there too long. He should sit down. He flashed Essek a grin. It felt stale and tight on his face. "Fancy," he said. "Take that to the bar down the road and they'll drown it in whiskey for ya."
Essek looked happy, confident, his tools of trade all around him. That should help. It should loosen the knot in the pit of Zandi's throat.
It didn't sting, the collar. Maybe it should. It should remind him it was dangerous.
He crossed into the room. He did not sit down.
"What's with the, uh... magic silverware?" he asked, gesturing limply. Why? Would understanding anything of what he's seeing make a difference?
“There are weirder things in this world than a sword, darling.”
Eliyen had stayed in worse places. The inn was shabby, sure, and she was almost certain it was a front for organized crime, but it was cheap and they didn't ask questions. It beat sleeping in an alleyway or being on the move all night. Besides, with Zandi around, the location really didn't matter all that much. When it was just the two of them, it could've been a tiny barn with a leaking roof and she'd still enjoy the evening.
It was refreshing that Zandi never truly called her out on her secrets and lies. She only lied and hid truths for his own safety, after all. But he made something of a game out of prying her secrets from her. Well, it was less prying and more gentle nudging until she'd allow him another step into her world. She just didn't want to involve him with her demons. Was that so wrong?
She raised an eyebrow at the question. Cometfell had the ability to speak to others, even when it wasn't held by them, and it had yet to speak to Zandi. Eliyen knew the being residing in her sword (or... that was her sword? She was never quite sure) well enough now that she knew it would speak if she handed the blade to Zandi. It would open up so many questions, some she wasn't sure she was ready to answer.
“Sure, why not?” She unsheathed the sword and held its hilt out to Zandi. The number engraved on the hilt , now exposed as Eliyen was no longer covering it, read 124. “Careful, it's got a temperament.”
“Who are you calling temperamental?!” The sword snapped, and Eliyen had a feeling she wasn't the only one hearing its voice this time.
Indeed; the voice sliced through Zandi's thoughts the moment his fingers wrapped the hilt like a blade between the brain folds. He flinched back on the bed, upright and straight-backed as a board now, and he'd just enough sense not to drop or fling the thing from him before he understood.
"Jier'de mie'le—!" Zandi regained his composure with a shake of his head. "Fuck, El! You could'a warned me about… uh."
He turned the blade in his hand. A good one, but he could've told anyone that just by watching its wielder use it; the balanced weight of a forge job well done that tipped comfortably with his adjusting grip, with a little gothic flair. It wouldn't look too out of place on some rich hermit's mantle, if they liked their trophies ominous.
He took one more uneasy glance between Eliyen and the sword. "You. Guess I can ask. Who are you?"
slut @sleetkissed in front of his salad:
>:( from slutkissed ♡
Her.
Fuckin'. Thumbs down at She.
>:(
"Yeah, I could use a trunk with legs. As long as it's fast. And climbs. Do they make one that climbs?"
GET TO KNOW YOUR MUTUALS. rules: answer and tag six people you want to know better.
FAVOURITE COLOUR: [gestures around] de colores.
LAST SONG: Waiting for Superman - Daughtry
CURRENTLY READING: The Color of Magic by Terry Pratchett (trying again!)
CURRENTLY WATCHING: Critical Role, Campaign 4
CURRENTLY CRAVING: Watermelon :(
stolen from @accultant, and yyyou should do it too!
your honor, in my defense, you wouldnt get it
you had to be there, your honor
Trick or treat! Tell us a happy or sad headcanon about your character!
The first man Zandi fell in love with made a fool of him.
By reputation, he was Ring-Rain, a five-finger discount dab hand with scales like gold. His real name was Doryali, as his friends knew him—a sly and pompous dragonborn who loved fine jewelry and hated desert weather. But only Zandi got to call him 'Dory'.
They met in the city during the Prism Festival, a dazzling celebration of light and art, where painters and choreographers and storytellers and artisans of all kinds gathered to spin miracles up and down every street. While Zandi watched the sword dancers, Doryali watched his belt—and stole Zandi's pouch from it the second they rubbed elbows in the crowd.
Zandi spent hours chasing him down to steal it back. He never did; Doryali took to alleys like a snake to its own burrows. But Zandi was good at keeping up, and bad at giving up. Long after it stopped being about the pouch—days after—Dory stopped running to ask for his name.
Zandi's worst night was also Ring-Rain's greatest escape. These days Zandi isn't sure, as the choking flames swallowed the collapsing gap in the window where Doryali had disappeared for the last time, why he thought he'd come back for him. Why, when Zandi had made it impossible?
The first man Zandi fell in love with made a fool of him.
essek's motions were gentle and meticulous, ensuring the wounds were fully coated. if only it could distract him from zandi's words. the last thing anyone should feel for him was sympathy. he had to correct this. he had to leave.
no. zandi needed back up. he should stay until they could find another companion, at least. ❝ you are very kind, but . . . there comes a point where wealth cannot avoid being unsavory. where it can only have reached that point by foul deeds, greed amongst them. i do not wish to mislead you. i cannot be considered a good man. only one who, to the best of his ability, is no longer perpetuating evil. ❞
he was trying his best to think of words that fit his fiction while conveying this essential truth: i am not good. i am not admirable. and it was a little act of evil in itself to allow zandi to continue believing he was. essek reached into the pack, gathering a roll of clean bandage and wrapping it around the tiefling's knuckles.
Zandi's brow wrinkled, the warmth in his eyes waning. He didn't come from wealth, and he would never have it. But often he crashed into it—either to menace its benefactors or to bear the brunt of its consequences as they swung it around and ignored whomever it clubbed, at best. He could guess by himself what sort of dealings Essek complied with. The kind that commanded miles of steel pushed over teeming wilds others had relied on for hundreds of years, or built fences around open water and paid guards to beat back the people they'd suddenly made trespassers, or bought out the last of the livestock from unlucky homesteaders who didn't realize—or couldn't afford to care—that they'd given away more than they'd gained.
A white-hot wire of resentment fizzled around his chest. They wouldn't have gotten along, had they met then.
But this Essek, the one he actually met, had helped him escape. He didn't have to.
Zandi flexed his wounded fingers again. A pinch, now—clean, wrapped, and almost sure to heal well. Essek was still helping him. He didn't have to.
One night, long before this one, Zandi set a fire he couldn't put out.
"Could've fooled me," he said. His crooked grin returned. "You look pretty good right now."
Inspired by nyahallo's Dreamwhisper gown, @fortunefeather, and our shared affection for The Last Unicorn. Happy Halloween!
