remember your oath. @oathkeeping - Tumblr Blog

how could such a night be beautiful?

#OATHKEEPING : 18+ hub blog. independent. multi muse, multi ship, multi fandom. semi selective. low to medium activity. novella scriptures. potential mature themes. discord: oathskept. rules.

why would the stars want to look down on such as me?

#hello im alive #from daph #/oathkeeping #roleplay #rp #asoiaf rp #the boys rp #fantasy rp

oathsbroke

“ so many vows. they make you swear and swear. . . it's too much. no matter what you do, you're forsaking one vow or the other. ”

[ OATHSBROKE ] independent, semi - selective, literate novella, novels based + headcanon influenced, mature themes. KINGSLAYER !

a study in : gilded cages, loving what you shouldn’t, the weight of legacy, honor buried beneath arrogance, breaking oaths to keep them, the slow unmaking of a villain, a redemption that comes too late.

OATHKEEPING : penned by daphne, 18+/MDNI, she/they, discord ( oathskept )

oathkeeping

( @p-aladin )

MINTHARA BAENRE WAS UNSURE IF SHE WOULD EVER ADJUST TO THE OVERWORLD. The Underdark had been her home, it was her home. She would not go so far as to say that she missed her people, because missing.was such a weak emotion, and Minthara Baenre was far from weak. She would say, though, that she did crave the power she held in Menzoberranzan and she did wish that surface dwellers had just an ounce of the self control and intelligence that her people held.

Her trip Above Ground had been rooted only in curiosity about these Absolutists. The audacity they had to come to Menzoberranzan had piqued her interest, though since then her trip had been rooted in disaster. Brain parasites, filthy goblins, torture beyond measure. Memories played on repeat in her head, as the tadpole in her brain wriggled about.

Every night, she had prayed to Lolth. For strength, for power, for a memory of home. Lolth seemed to have forgotten her. Perhaps Lolth saw the weakness and patheticness in the pit of Mintharas soul, perhaps this was all a test from the spider queen. Either way, Minthara found her faith waning. It was a despicable thing, for a drow of such high birth to turn away from their goddess.

Then, as though it was a cruel mockery from some god, Minthara had been saved. She had been pulled from Moonrise Towers, by a half - elf. One that she could recognize, Dram'szin. Minthara had seen him train, decades ago it felt, and had pushed for his promotion. On the battlefield, he had been a master. Each slash, stab, punch, kick, was all carefully practiced. Watching his attacks were like watching a beautiful dance. The blood he wore after made the scene all the more entrancing. Dram'szin was talented, strong, and intelligent, for a half - breed at least.

AND YET , HE HAD LEFT HER. Dram'szin had left Minthara in Moonrise Towers once before. Minthara cursed him for his cowardice, and revered him for his self preservation. It was a bundle of complicated emotions, even if Minthara was sure she too would've left him if the roles had been reversed.

These days, Minthara had found herself in a camp of filth. Though they were better than the goblins, they were still beneath Minthara Baenre. Vampire spawn, cleric of Shar, githyanki soldier, warlock, wizard with a bomb in his chest, tiefling with a bomb in her chest... and Dram'szin. But the party was marching on Orin the Red, and Minthara wanted nothing more than to separate Orins spine from her body. That it what she told herself at least; that it was a matter of convenience, and not that she was growing weak and seeked a comfortable refuge as she adjusted to this new world.

The moon was high in the sky, and the stars were twinkling brightly. Even the nighttime was too bright for an Underdark dweller. The torches and camp fire that were constantly lit did little to help the drows dark - seeking eyes.

Freshly bathed, and wearing a fine silken nightgown, Minthara stood just outside of Dram'szin's tent. The others were nowhere to be seen, not that Minthara would ever allow them to see her so exposed. Without knocking, without announcing her arrival, Minthara pushed into the tent. Her eyes immediately landed on Dram'szin, the only remnant of her past life.

Dram'szin was not repulsive to look at. He did lack the glorious blue tinted skin of a drow, but his freshly tanned skin was not hideous. She couldn't help but notice how the sun had given him an almost honeyed complexion, a stark difference to the pale porcelain that he had been in the land without light.

“ Dram'szin. ” she spoke the name with finality, and she did not dream of calling him Dram as most people seemed to do.

Minthara had never felt a drop of nervousness. Not even when she had been locked away in Moonrise Towers, not even when Orin the Red was having her way with her. Yet, here and now, standing before Dram'szin the words got caught in Minthara's throat.

“ My hair needs to be braided. ” Dram'szin would understand, surely he would. In Menzoberranzan, Minthara had always kept her hair in many intricate braids. Courtesy of her handmaidens, of course. The last few weeks had given her a severe lack of help, and even fewer people she could trust with a tedious task such as this. Letting someone braid your hair was no small feat. It was a proclaimation of utter trust from yourself, and utter devotion and loyalty from the other. Leaving your back to someone and your neck exposed was a quick way to be quickly killed in Menzoberranzan. “ I am not seeking anything too difficult, not from your hands at least. However, I do wish for one tight braid, and you would seem to be the most equipped for this task. ”

There were words that Minthara would have to leave unsaid, there was much left to the subtext. If only Dram'szin noticed. She could not outright ask for help, though she was in no place to demand it either. This was no simple attempt at comraderie, this was her handing her trust to Dram'szin on a silver platter, spoon feeding him forgiveness for leaving her once before, and also asking for his own forgiveness for the cruelty from the Underdark.

She was dancing around the subject, hoping for Dram'szin to understand her. He was always rather intelligent, even if he was foolish at times. Rather than speaking more, and adding the true question, Minthara simply stared at Dram'szin with a neutral expression that she could only hope did not show her internal conflict and desperation.

paladin-arch

it's been a dozen tenday after moonrise, but still he gnaws that event in his mouth, and it sticks to his teeth, ricochets off the many angles of his jaws. he's kicked over every stone on its waters, it feels, and none behold absolution: why must he so lucidly bethink himself of the past? it could be in part of minthara and her deafening silence, yes, the very same that feels like an innumerable score of beatings any moment he's subjected to it. if she's spared him even the slightest of glances from across last night's fire, or between the waning blink of cateye lanterns warding danger off their campsite, he's failed to take notice of an instance. for all his shortcomings, dram'szin feels like a weapon fresh from the whetstone, all teeth and claws and blood and, and, and— his absurd eyes disappear behind their feathered lashes, because he's still chewing, and it's far too much to swallow. what has become of him after absconding his post in the underdark, after the ocean, after meeting minthara again— leaving minthara to those cultists, to orin?

as he lay now, straw and virgin wool graze at his neck and his arm that serves as a rest for his crown. he watches the dent where his lean-to opens, and it's so dark, but he sees well in the inkblot of his canvas.

he thinks now of how dark red, scarlet, and crimson alike dribbled down his face and dried on his fists the first time he saw her. she stood before him with composure beyond anyone's he'd seen before. that nose, that lip, those eyes reminiscent of moussaieff diamonds on ivory moonstones, and the pride that swelled and stirred in his stomach when she praised him for his victory, the same pride he fostered when she rewarded him again on the surface with a duty by her side. the shame he feels today for forfeiting an honor is nigh painful, and it's evident in his unseeable face. residue of the memory's still there but shrank up to only his eyes when someone enters unexpectedly. dram'szin reacts accordingly, albeit a little dramatic: his body twists and he lurches for his sword. stops midway. " minthara... " her name doesn't make it to full. something like an exhale, instead. he eases, but moves to sit and eventually stand with intent to greet her. it's immediate, the customary bow of his head. he hadn't been expecting her, and thinks shortly that, perchance, all that thinking manifested her arrival. he feels... in a word... seen.

he keeps her eyes with the thought that if he spoke, nothing worthy of her heed would come of it. he decidedly doesn't talk, instead, sees to it that she displays all that she means to without interruption. but it sits on his pale mouth, a stifled apology. not now. his tongue sways behind his teeth. his brow twitches and rises toward his hairline, lending him the marbled sheen of restrained surprise. his head moves and his mouth opens, gnashing in what might prematurely seem like protest but is the reality of a man stupefied... he finds himself this way before her more often than not. considering her explanation, dram'szin silently soaks in the blatant view of her, and feels afterward that it may have been the worst of all sins. minthara is beautiful. more than beautiful, minthara is a paragon of elegance, of charm, a delicacy with knives. ah, yes, that is what she's lacking tonight, knives. " i'm up to the task. " he answers, feigning equanimity. he's eager to accommodate her.

dram'szin is no stranger to the caring of hair. his being wilder, more diverse, he was taught early to tend to it and living amongst drow women in a powerful matriarch showed him the pains of ministering such tedious rituals. it makes a great deal of sense to him that he is the one she chose for help— he recognizes home in her. he wonders if she does the same in him. her kindness has not been shy of him, but forgiveness has. he reads this as a token of gratitude, as pardon for his recent foundering, and when he moves behind her where she can't see his face, he acquits a little smile, but bites it back. candleflame sweeps to life as he lights a handful of sticks to illuminate the cabin of his tent. " please, sit. allow me. " it's an offer, but sounds almost like a begging request. he gestures vaguely to any place before him, as the lanate ground spanning from all corners is fleecy enough as comfort for her knees.

oathkeeping

The upper world was a place of harsh light and soft beings, none of whom could truly understand Minthara. She hated feeling weak, relying on others, and yet here she was, asking for help in a task so intimate it nearly broke her resolve.

Minthara's knees met the ground with a soft thud, a sound that echoed in her mind like a death knell. The act of kneeling, the act of submission, was almost unbearable. Glancing up at Dram’szin, she saw the concern in his eyes, but all she could feel was the sickening sensation of submitting. In Menzoberranzan, kneeling was a sign of weakness, of defeat. It made her stomach twist, the bile rising as she fought to keep her expression neutral. For a few seconds, she held his eye contact. Her scarlet eyes shining through her pale lashes, her jaw set so tight she was sure her teeth might crack under the pressure.

Minthara was the first to break the eye contact, as she cast her eyes down to her lap, it was a bow to Dram'szin. It was weak, it was pathetic. She did not dare look up to meet his eyes again, but she could not stare at her own hands, crossed so gently in her lap, like a well practiced slave. Her eyes stared into the flickering flames of a candle, seeing not the fire but the grandeur of Menzoberranzan. The towering stalagmites and stalactites, the glittering glow of faerzress, the intricate politics and power plays -- each memory a dagger twisting in her heart. She was MINTHARA BAENRE, a name once whispered with both fear and respect, now reduced to a refugee seeking shelter among a ragtag group of misfits.

When Dram’szin’s fingers first touched her scalp, Minthara flinched, her body reacting before her mind could catch up. She bit back the instinctive snarl, swallowing her pride as she forced herself to remain still. Physical touch had always been a weapon or a tool, rarely a comfort. The gentle contact now felt alien, almost painful in its tenderness. Each brush of his fingers sent conflicting signals through her -- discomfort mingled with feelings so embarrassing that she would dare even admit them to herself. Her heart pounded with a mix of shame and longing. She hated that she needed this, needed him. The silence stretched, filled only by the crackle of the fire and the rhythmic movement of Dram’szin’s hands.

“ Dram’szin, ” she said again, more softly this time, as if the name itself was a lifeline. She closed her eyes, feeling the tension ease slightly as his fingers continued their work. “ Do you ever wish to return? To reclaim what you've lost? ”

Her voice was barely more than a whisper, the vulnerability in her question startling even to her own ears. Minthara, who had faced down horrors untold without flinching, now found herself seeking solace in the presence of a male half-drow -- a being she would have once dismissed as inferior. She didn’t expect an answer, not really. The question was as much for herself as it was for him, a reflection of the internal struggle that threatened to consume her.

She took a deep breath, steadying herself. Whatever Dram’szin’s response, she knew she couldn’t afford to waver. She was Minthara Baenre, and she would find a way to reclaim her power, with or without the favor of the Spider Queen. This task, this moment of vulnerability, was but a step on her path to redemption—or destruction. Only time would tell.

Dram’szin’s fingers brushed against a particularly sensitive spot, one that Orins bloodied hands had quite enjoyed to grip tightly, and Minthara’s breath hitched. She forced herself to focus on the here and now, on the solid presence of Dram’szin. Yet, the phantom pain lingered, a ghost of her past refusing to be exorcised. Memories of her time at Moonrise Tower resurfaced unbidden, flashes of pain and humiliation that made her stomach churn. Every now and then, the sound of crackling fire blended with the echo of her own screams from those dark days. She felt herself tense involuntarily, muscles tightening as if bracing for another blow. The firelight flickered, casting shifting shadows that played tricks on her eyes. Sometimes, she’d see the faces of her tormentors in the darkness, a sudden flash of movement that made her heart race and her hand twitch towards her weapon. These were the moments she hated most -- the weakness, the loss of control. The sight of red blood, one that she once had revelled in, now made her stomach churn. In her ears she could sometimes hear her mother's tsking, whispering “ you should've never left home, Minthara Baenre, and now you may never return home, disgrace. ”

Dram’szin’s gentle presence and the careful way he handled her hair eased the rising nausea, if only slightly. She hated how much she craved this moment of tenderness, how desperately she longed for the safety and warmth it represented. It was a longing she was ashamed of, an emotion she had tried to bury deep within herself.

“ I dreamt of you once. ” her words were carefully spoken, though she could barely believe they left her lips. Such a raw admission was not the way of the Baenre family. Yet, the words continued to spill from her lips, as water spills through clasped fingers. “ At Moonrise Towers, I dreamt of you. ”

Drow do not require sleep, no. This dream came to her from a trance, as she attempted to meditate to hide from the agony she had been experiencing. With her eyes closed, Minthara could still recall fragments of the dream. The dream had been simple, a creation of her mind designed to soothe her, though now in hindsight, perhaps it was prophetic. Dram'szin had saved her, had slaughtered the filth who dared lay their hands on her, and even brought Orin the Red's corpse to Minthara as a gift.

At the time, Minthara could not make sense of why she had been confused as to why she was seeing the coward Dram'szin, and even more confused as to why she continued to hold to the comfort and hope that the dream would come to fruition. Later, much later, when Dram'szin, and the motley crew that followed, had arrived to save her, Minthara wondered if it had been a figment of her imagination. With the calmness of this camp, and the kindness offered to her by strangers, Minthara still could scarcely believe this to be her ne reality.

“ Dram'szin, ” Minthara turned slightly, so she could glance at Dram'szin from the corner of her eye, “ You are my most trusted comrade, you saved me long before you stepped foot back into Moonrise Towers. ”

#GIGGLING AND KICKING MY FEET #🗝️ ;; closed roleplay #✂️ ;; untrimmed #📞 ;; mobile #from daph #direwarg / p aladin #p aladin #direwarg

( @p-aladin )

“ Dram'szin. ” she spoke the name with finality, and she did not dream of calling him Dram as most people seemed to do.

#LETS GOOO #direwarg / p-aladin #direwarg #p-aladin #🗝️ ;; closed roleplay #bg3 rp #from daph

limpfisted

BALDUR’S GATE 3 RP CANON COMPLIANT/DIVERGENT MEME: send in prompts for starters in between “canon events” for us to add our own flavor and further canon development to the game! this list is NOT EXHAUSTIVE, merely a “jumping off point.” if there are other canon events not included here, you can also send those in as well!

ACT ONE.

[ NAUTILOID. ] A starter where our muses awaken on the beach after the nautiloid crashes.

[ ETHEL. ] A starter where our muses are exploring the area around Aunt Ethel’s house.

[ HARPIES. ] A starter where our muses save the tiefling child from the harpies.

[ PICKPOCKET. ] A starter where our muses were pickpocketed by the tiefling kids—and now have to find their stuff.

[ LESSONS. ] A starter where our muses teach the tieflings how to fight, with Wyll.

[ TIEFLING PARTY. ] A starter where our muses approach one another at the tiefling party, to gossip, chat, dance, or hit on each other.

[ BRIDGE. ] A starter where our muses discuss Raphael’s deal.

[ MIZORA. ] A starter where our muses discuss Wyll’s pact—and his transformation.

[ BLOODLESS. ] A starter where one of our muse’s reacts the other being sucked dry by Astarion.

[ DREAM GUARDIAN. ] A starter where our muses react to the Dream Guardian visiting their dreams, and the power of the tadpoles.

[ SPORES. ] A starter where our muses react to the effects of the Myconoid’s gift.

[ SCRYING EYE. ] A starter where our muses are forced to think of a way to shank the scrying eye in the Grymforge.

[ SCRATCH. ] A starter where our muses react to Best Boy coming to camp the first time.

ACT TWO….

[ LAST LIGHT. ] For our muses to rest together at the Last Light Inn.

[ FAIRY. ] For our muses to listen to the moonlight lantern fairy curse their name.

[ SHAR. ] For our muses to complete the Shar puzzles together!

[ NIGHTSONG. ] For our muses to react after Shadowheart saves / does not save the Nightsong!

[ ENGINE. ] For our muses to react to Karlach being able to touch again.

[ FLESH. ] For our muses to explore the guts of Moonlight Towers together.

[ LOVE. ] For our muses to react to Dame Aylin and Isobel being reunited.

[ ORPHAN. ] For our muses to react to Arabella’s tragedy.

[ HIDE N SEEK. ] For our muses to play hide and seek with Thaniel!

ACT THREE. (spoilers under the cut.)

#from daph #✒️ ;; starter calls

mcflymemes

STAR WARS: EPISODE I - THE PHANTOM MENACE PROMPTS * assorted dialogue from the 1999 film, adjust as necessary

you can't stop change any more than you can stop the suns from setting.

i can only protect you. i cannot fight a war for you.

you almost got us killed!

the ability to speak does not make you intelligent.

are you sure about this?

i want that treaty signed.

it's impossible to locate the ship.

he will find your lost ship.

this is getting out of hand. now there are two of them.

may the force be with you.

at last we will have revenge.

they will be no match for you.

i will not condone a course of action that will lead us to war.

wipe them out. all of them.

i beg your pardon, but what do you mean "naked?"

are you an angel?

they're the most beautiful creatures in the universe.

you're a funny little boy.

how do you know so much?

i listen to all the traders and star pilots who come through here.

you're a jedi knight, aren't you?

[name] says i should be mindful of the future.

be mindful of your feelings.

my place is here. my future is here.

tell them we wish to board at once.

i can't explain what happened.

there is no civility, only politics.

keep your concentration here and now, where it belongs.

this is your arena. i feel i must return to mine.

my fate will be no different to that of our people.

if we do not act quickly, all will be lost forever.

we are your humble servants. our fate is in your hands.

greed can be a very powerful ally.

what has that got to do with anything?

i sense much fear in you.

there's always a bigger fish.

no one can kill a jedi.

remember, concentrate on the moment.

feel, don't think. trust your instincts.

you said that the biggest problem in the universe is no one helps each other.

remember: your focus determines your reality.

why do i get the feeling that we've picked up another pathetic life form?

which one was destroyed, the master or the apprentice?

i'm a pilot, you know.

someday i'm going to fly away from this place.

i need something more real.

i don't have anything else.

no money, no parts, no deal!

they all sense it, why can't you?

don't do that again.

will i ever see you again?

what does your heart tell you?

i will come back and free you. i promise.

be brave and don't look back.

#winguhiro #rumunasin #notrueheroes #shadoweavers #from daph

winguhiro

“ if corrupting myself is enough to put everyone else at ease, then i will gladly take on this job . ”

[ WINGUHIRO ] independent, semi - selective, literate novella, manga based + headcanon influenced, mature themes. TAKAMI KEIGO!

a study in : flightless birds, stolen childhoods, corruption, tragic prodigies, flying too close to the sun.

direwarg : penned by daphne, 18+/MDNI, she/they, multi - muse insta ( LONGCLAWED ), discord ( DIREWOLVED ), personal tags, rules

notrueheroes

“ a single person with a single conviction has the power to change the world. there are no true heroes. ”

[ NOTRUEHEROES ] independent, multi - muse, semi - selective, literate novella, manga based + headcanon influenced, mature themes.

current muses : touya todoroki / dabi || mirio togata / lemillion || eijiro kirishima / red riot || kaina tsutsumi / lady nagant || more tba!

DIREWARG : penned by daphne, 18+/MDNI, she/they, multi - muse insta ( LONGCLAWED ), discord ( DIREWOLVED ), rules

rumunasin

“ you can never return home , stormbringer . ”

[ RUMUNASIN ] independent, semi selective, literate novella, forgotten realms / d&d / bg3 based, mature themes, MOL’LARA MIZZRYM !

a study in : leashing the storm within, a loveless mother, creating your own family, devouring your oppressors, defying fate, self fulfilling prophecies, being the chosen one.

direwarg : penned by daphne, 21 + | mdni, she/they, multi muse insta ( longclawed ), mol'lara insta ( rumunasin ), discord ( direwolved ), full information regarding mol'lara below the cut ( until i make her a carrd )

MARKED AT BIRTH, CURSED WITH THE WRONG AMBITION. [ ¹ ] - * within drow society, it is ( eat or be eaten ). the strongest, smartest, most powerful thrive ; the weaker are lucky to just survive. this is especially true within lothite centered societies our dear protagonist ( LARA ) had the misfortune of being born into such society. [ ² ] --- * in the year 1468, a name was whispered into the world ( MOĽLARA MIZZRYM ). an odd looking creature, even for the underdark. especially for the high society. pale blue skin, a shimmer of white hair, one bright red eye ( and ) ... one blackened eye, one dark birth mark stretching across said eye. her mother, akor'vrae , had tried to end the childs inevitable suffering but, with every attempt, something ... ( strange ? ) would happen. lightning would pulsate from the babe, thunder from somewhere would shake the caverns. thunder, in a place with no atmosphere? MOL ’ LARA would live, she would thrive. akor'vrae would ensure it ; her daughter, her heir, was special. marked at birth for greatness, the all-powerful lolth had blessed her. [ ³ ] --- * mol'lara had no father, and her mother did not raise her. it was the servants who saw that the child grew, not that they done it out of the goodness of their hearts. akor'vrae paid the drow fairly ; as fairly as a high-born drow could be expected to be. by all means, mol'lara should have excelled. she was highly intelligent, her mother was a high priestess of lolth, and (ignore the / hideous / birth mark ) moľlara was beautiful. [ ⁴ ]_-- * nearly every night, mol'laras dreams were haunted. a figure whose face not could not ( *see* ) came to her. he whispered to her, said that she was far too powerful to spend her life in the dark. he taught her things that drow did not believe in ; he taught her goodness, he showed her the light. mol'lara wondered if he was her father. [ ⁵ ] -- * mol'lara asked her mother once ( & only once ) about her father. her mother was a woman of few words, and those few words tended to lean towards petty insults, but when mol'lara asked about her father, akor'vrae's red eyes alit with anger. the staff immediately cleared the room. akor'vrae said only one thing : "your father is dead and never mentioned him again, or there will be consequences." [ ⁶ ]---- * “ STORMBRINGER ; you bring thunder and shame where it does not belong." by now, mol'lara was 25 years old. very young for a drow, but old enough to ( know better ). it was time for her oath ; time to swear herself to lolth. her entire life was leading to this moment. her eventually servitude for the spider queen had been mol'lara's only saving grace. her powers were unnatural, and uncontrollable. her face was scarred. yet, akor'vrae insisted that lolth would guide her only daughter. the people believed her (* or so they said *). but, mol'lara had no interest in lolth. mol'lara was not a cruel being ; she was almost ( kind ). so, therefore, she was ( *weak* ) mol'lara was unsure of where this unseemly weakness came from; but it plagued her. her dreamscape visitor had cursed her, and now it was time to reap what one sows. [ ⁷ ] ---= * being shunned from society is a scary thing ; even worse was being shunned in a place as dark and scary as the underdark. mol'lara left with nothing but a set of clothes, an empty backpack, and a dagger that she had stole from her own mother. all that akor'vrae had only one thing to say: “ you can never return home, stormbringer. ” had not even said her name ; which akor'vrae had always said was beautiful. and so mol'lara ( STORMBRINGER ) had left. she cut off her long, intricate braid ; left the hair on her mother's pillow. a warning ? an omen ? who knew. the only reason mol'lara had been free to walk was not out of mercy, but rather a fear of the unknown. the people feared she would curse them all; perhaps she would tear down the city with her demon powers. [ ⁸ ] ----- mol'lara was dead; lara was born.

#promo /daph #back to my fantasy lala land i go

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