Yay!!! I finally have portraits for all my main characters from my epic fantasy story I’m working on! Don’t they all look so cool? (Individual images and descriptions under the cut)
Ling: An Autistic Prince with third degree burns who’s presumed death started a war.
Tseren: A war criminal with a troubled past who killed a hundred men in a single night
Serpent: A heartless bounty-hunter driven by necessity whose prey never escapes him.
Maya: A blind orphan child who can see the red strings of fate that make up people’s hearts.
Kira: The eldest daughter of a broken noble family, trying to hold the pieces together.
Aliseu: The secret daughter of a noble house who buried the bodies of every villager in her hometown after it was ravaged by an angry spirit.
I’ve been working on this story for… dang, almost eight years now. It’s really come a long way, but it’s still far from finished. It will probably be years yet before I’m ready to write this behemoth of an epic, but I’m proud of the work I’ve done already.
Whenever you are on the spectrum. Low or high support. Good at masking or terrible at it. Early or late diagnosed, self or officially. Impressive at your special interest or not really retaining any information. Non-verbal, selectively mute, echolalic or constantly rambling. “Not looking autistic” or obviously disabled. Hypo- or hyperempathetic. Struggling or content. We're all different.
Mods used: Otis_Inf Camera Mod, ReShade, Lighty Lights, Jun's Head Pack, Vessnelle's Hair, Kay's Hair Extensions
Originally created around October 2025 for the BG3 Yearbook (which is still very much under works, just delayed), but I thought it wouldn't hurt to post it early, the occasion really merits it.
Summary: Theo considers who would want to kill her uncle, Adam learns about the horrors of traybakes and breakfast risottos, and we meet a man.
This story is made without the use of Al. I do not consent to having my story put into any ai generative software, to be translated , copied or posted elsewhere without my express permission. I do not claim to own the source material this story is based upon.
Read on AO3
Previous Chapter
Chapter 7
Him
The Night of the Murder
This was not the plan. How did he let things get so out of hand? Twigs and dead leaves snapped under his feet as he ran through the forest, his breath, hard and quick. Blood dripped off of his knuckles, pooling into the gloves he'd put on after the stabbing.
'Why didn't I wear them before?' He thought, mentally swearing at himself.
Breaking through the forest into the small hedgerow where he parked his Mercedes, the man fumbled in his pocket for his keys. For a moment, he worried that he'd left them at the house to burn along with the body. It would serve him right.
All this risk, all this fuss, and nothing to show for it but blood on his hands and ash on his suit.
Mother would be pissed.
Luckily, the keys were in his inner breast pocket. He breathed a sigh of relief before unlocking the Mercedes, sitting inside, and putting his gloves on the steering wheel. He'd have to find a place to hide them, to clean himself before returning to the local hotel he'd booked himself into.
"Messy! Stupid!" He could already hear his mother's voice scolding him.
But it was her mess he was cleaning, so she could shut it.
~
The man found a lake; it wasn't hard to do so, and rinsed them clean there. He balled up the gloves and hid them in a bin far from where his car was parked, then walked back to the hotel. The night manager was sleeping at the desk, so the man could walk by in his stained suit with nobody the wiser.
When he looked in the bathroom mirror, the man did not recognize himself. Dirt, twigs and leaves had gotten stuck in his hair while he'd run to his car. His skin had been covered in a thin film of red that had started to feel sticky. He would need to shower to get everything off.
He looked down at his suit. The smell of smoke and ash had managed to penetrate his clothes after the small encounter. No amount of work by a discrete dry cleaner would remove them, let alone the blood, or the tears from his forest adventure. The man cut his losses; he had other nice suits, if not Mother could afford to pay for another.
But first, the blood.
Showering took a long time. The tiny hotel bottles of shampoo and conditioner were drained by the time the man finished his ablutions. His skin had been rubbed raw in the process. Who knew that dry blood would be so hard to remove without a wash cloth?
The man slept naked that night. When he woke the next morning, he stared around at the hotel room he'd found himself in. Quaint, bordering on dingy. A terrible place for a man like him to coop himself up in. But he would have to stay; he would have to ensure that his victim did not spread word of his mother's failures. Then he would leave, and only then.
~
Theo
Freddy Bear was staring at her with his single, all-knowing glass eye from across the bed. Her childhood companion's worn mohair body stiffly rested on a pile of pillows that were more for fashion than function. He was patient, waiting for Theo's attention.
The night found Theo restless and exhausted. No matter how many times she tossed and turned, she could not get comfortable. Her injuries meant that no matter which position she slept, some different part of her body would ache. The doctors said her ribs would be swollen and inflamed for a while during the healing process. In the hospital, that seemed reasonable (since she was slightly doped up). Now? Now, Theo was in a quiet sort of agony. The swelling on her ribs just got worse and worse. After a while, Theo just stopped trying to fall asleep and started to stare at the sloped ceiling of her attic apartment.
This part of the house, her little haven, used to be the servants' quarters in the day of her great-grandparents. When she took over possession of the house from her uncle, who'd basically only used it as a storage space for his shop, the servant's quarters had been the first area Theo had made habitable before beginning her renovations on the rest of the house. It was the one place she gave herself license to decorate as she wished, allowing her to make the space simply hers. The rest of the house was for the guests; this cozy, cramped little attic was just for Theo.
Normally, her little sanctuary would give her comfort, but not now. Who had killed her uncle, and why? Yes, he had been a member of SOE during the war, but his work was mainly surveillance, and it ended when she was orphaned. Did he have enemies from that? Theo could not be certain. Or was it something else? Clearly, her uncle had known his killer, if he had let them into his home. But who?
Theo tried to think if her Uncle Morris had any major enemies in the community. If someone had held a grudge or had some sort of frustration with her uncle, he would've shared that information with her. After all, he was like her father; they were close.
Theo reached out with her bandaged hand, grabbed Freddy, and placed him on her lap. Her childhood companion seemed ready to listen to her thoughts.
'But would he have told me the truth if it he thought it meant danger?' Theo bit her lip in concentration.
'I could try to write,' she thought, 'make use of the quiet.'
Theo shook her head. Writing would be difficult. Due to her injuries, she couldn't use a typewriter or even a simple pencil and paper. What could she do? A tape recorder was an option. Her tape recorder had been a constant companion in her previous occupation, but now… would the recorder even work? Talking would hurt, but at least in that way, Theo could still technically write down her story ideas. As she contemplated these ideas, she absentmindedly plucked lint from Freddy's aged body. He did not seem to mind.
Despite everything, Theo still wanted to write. She thought that grief would freeze time and creativity. She thought her world would simply stand still. But Theo was wrong. Perhaps it was because Uncle Morris may have left a trail of breadcrumbs for her to find with Dalgliesh. She didn't quite feel that her uncle was dead, even though she'd held his body as it rapidly cooled.
'What a horrible thing,' Theo thought, 'to know someone is dead, and yet feel they might step back into your life at any moment. It is a maddening sort of grief.'
Theo tried to sit up, but her chest rebelled, wheezing in protest. Due to her efforts, Freddy fell, his ancient voice box making a terrified "baaaaaa" as he plummeted to the ground. Theo groaned. She wouldn't be able to grab him without sitting up. She flopped back down, defeated. What would she do if her injuries kept her from doing anything? Theo would have to adjust to her new normal, yet she didn't know how.
The pain of missing her Uncle singed her in that moment. Morris would know what to do, what advice to give, and provide a small hand of comfort. But Morris was gone, and Theo was all alone in her attic bedroom. Not even a soulless childhood toy could bring her comfort.
~
Adam
It did not take long for Adam to fall asleep that night. Normally, he would've stayed up to examine notes and compare witness statements; however, Adam did not do that this night. Perhaps it was because he'd been on his feet at an early hour that day, but sleep came easily. His dreams were pleasant but unremarkable, and when he woke up to the sound of his travelling alarm clock, Adam felt refreshed. As he sat on his bed in the Pemberley Room, he listened to the sounds around him. The clock was ticking, its uranium-painted dials glowing in the early morning light. Outside, birds were singing their early morning tunes, letting the world know it was time to wake.
By the time he was dressed in one of his work suits, with his bed made and hair combed, Adam could smell something cooking from downstairs. Given that Theodora had little time to make arrangements with a temp agency, Adam's interest was piqued.
Leaving the Pemberley room, he found that his DCIs were still resting, their doors locked, and snoring sounds echoing from within. Adam followed his nose and walked down the stairs, retracing his steps from the previous night to where he'd had tea with Theodora. There, he found an old woman he'd never met before, standing over a pot of what appeared to be…gruel?
Adam cleared his throat. The woman looked up. She had a head of white bobbed hair and tanned skin that crinkled around her smile.
"Hello there! You must be one of the officers who are staying."
"Yes. Commander Adam Dalgliesh, at your service. I'm afraid I don't know who you are."
"Ah, I'm Danica. I'm the neighbour," she smiled before turning back to her gruel as if her name explained everything, it didn't.
Since she didn't seem to be causing any harm, Adam went to start making tea, his eyes suspiciously narrowed at the old woman's back.
"Don't even think of lifting a finger!" She scolded, as though she could see him attempting to make something to drink.
"I'm happy to help," Adam offered.
Danica waved her hand, "This is my gift to you officers for all that you're doing for my sweet Theodora," she went back to stirring the gruel. Adam was not sure the cooking would be much of a gift.
'Her Theodora? That's interesting.'
"It's no problem, just part of our job."
Danica stopped her stirring and put her hands on her hips, turning to address Dalgliesh.
"Theo's father and uncle were like my brothers. She's practically my own flesh and blood. So, you helping her means something to me," she had that stern, motherly set to her lip that told Adam that there would be no more argument.
He sat down at the kitchen table, which seemed to please Danica greatly. She smiled before turning around to continue her cooking.
"What is that you're cooking?"
"Breakfast risotto for sweet Theo. I made you boys a savoury tray bake. It's in the refrigerator if you would like to plate up."
The savoury tray bake sounded vague and ominous enough on its own, but a breakfast risotto? Some horrors just could not be imagined, even by a police detective as experienced as Dalgliesh.
"Thank you," he said with a closed-mouthed smile as he reached towards the refrigerator.
Inside was indeed a tray, and it looked like it had been baked, but who was to say whether it could be savoured? It looked like a greyish bread pudding with flecks of parsley. The texture looked partially wet while also slightly burnt, which Adam was not sure was a feat or something to be even more horrified by. He looked over his shoulder at Danica, who was still stirring the "breakfast risotto." Adam gulped and decided, rather than offend a potential character witness, he would have to take a calculated risk. He would have to savour the unsavoury, savoury tray bake. He brought out the tray and set it on the counter before beginning to search the kitchen for serving utensils and dishes.
Adam was not by any means a petty or vengeful man, but by god, if he was going to suffer through this, so would Roscoe and Tarrant.
'Fair is fair,' he thought, tilting his head with an inward smile to himself.
Adam dished out three portions before asking Danica if she wanted any.
"Oh no dear, I never eat anything heavy before my barre class. Perhaps I'll have some afterwards if you all do not eat it all up."
"We will try." Dalgliesh responded dryly.
Danica's wristwatch started beeping.
"Curses. I have to go. Do you mind bringing up breakfast to Theodora for me, please? I don't want to be late for my dance class," Danica said, turning to Adam with pleading eyes.
Adam nodded, "Of course. I need to speak to her anyway, so that's no problem. Before I forget, I may have one of my officers speak to you about Morris Leyne."
The older woman agreed before running out of the house with surprising agility. Adam watched her retreating form, dumbfounded. He considered throwing away Danica's food, but after a second look in the fridge, he realized there weren't enough ingredients left for him to make anything. The four occupants of the house would have to endure Danica's cooking.
~
Adam rested the breakfast tray on his hip before knocking on the door to Theodora's apartment.
Roscoe and Tarrant had come down and had similar responses of disgust and repulsion when confronted with Danica's "tray bake." Adam did not try to deter them from running off for the more European breakfast of a coffee and a cigarette instead. Maybe the boys would find something to eat along the way. Dalgliesh would try not to be concerned about their empty stomachs.
"Come in!" Yelled Theodora within the depths of her apartment.
Adam twisted the knob and found to his surprise that the door had been unlocked ahead of time.
"I had Danica do that when she came in," Theo said, smoothing her hands on her bedsheets as Adam placed the tray down next to her on a bedside table, "The district nurse is supposed to be in soon; I needed a way for her to get up here."
Adam nodded, looking around the apartment. It was cramped, but it suited Theodora. The furniture was eclectic compared to the pieces in the rooms downstairs, a mixture of painted folk furnishings and waterfall pieces. The walls were covered with a sleek Art Deco wallpaper, along with many more prints, pictures, and paintings. Some of which, Adam was sure, depicted Theodora. It was stylish and eccentric, but it was her in a way that the rest of the house wasn't.
After putting the breakfast tray down, he grabbed his serving of his "tray bake" with the intention of keeping Theodora company while she ate. As he searched for a place to sit, he spotted a small teddy bear that had fallen to the floor, just out of reach of Theodora.
"Boyfriend of yours?" Adam asked deadpan as he picked up the bear, examining it with his free hand.
Theo blushed, "More like begrudging life companion."
"He's cute," Adam said as he gently placed the teddy to the foot of the bed, "mind if I keep you company?"
"Not at all."
She pointed out a chair nearby a small bookshelf and record player that Dalgliesh pulled over before sitting down next to her with his breakfast.
Theo seemed to be looking at him, "Once again I feel underdressed in your presence."
"You don't need to be dressed up. It's my job to look professional," Adam poked a fork and knife at his breakfast.
"I swear though, I can be fashionable, when I'm not injured."
"I believe you."
"I think you're lying to spare my feelings. You probably have a different suit for each day of the week, that's how fashionable you are."
The side of his mouth quirked up, Adam wasn't sure why she was so focused on this but he thought it was rather sweet, "Debatable on the fashionable point. And no. I don't have a suit for each day of the week."
"I'll believe it when I see it. Also, I've been meaning to ask, what in the bloody hell did you bring me?" She'd managed to put her bowl on her lap and was gesturing to the sludge before her.
"I believe Danica called it a 'breakfast risotto?' At least you do not have to try her 'savoury tray bake.' I think she used up all the ingredients in your fridge."
Theodora groaned and purposefully hit her head on the headboard, tilting her head back towards the ceiling, "I was worried about that. I told her to just bring some bread and pastries from the local bakery."
"I take it that this is not the first time you've been subjected to her food?"
Theo snorted. "Definitely not. She and my uncle were both atrocious cooks. Former ballerinas and academics are not known for their skills in fine cuisine. I hoped to spare you from the rare form of torture that is Danica's food."
"Rare indeed," Dalgliesh showed her the bowl, Theo grimaced in response.
"I apologize for the near death experience. I'll call the temp agency today. Until then, would you care to go for breakfast with me?"
"—I should be getting to the station." Adam wanted to kick himself. It was true. He should've been already getting to the station, but the earnestness in Theodora's offer made it hard for Adam to say no.
Theo blushed again, pushing a bit of hair out of her face, "right. Sorry, I should've realized you would be on a tight schedule."
"No, it's alright. We could eat at the station, if you're alright with that."
Theo smiled, "I'm alright with that."
~
Him
Now
The murder had not gone as planned. Obviously. The man did not intend for his victim to be discovered so soon, or living for that matter. At least the victim had died before anything could be revealed.
But now the man had to stay longer. He had to hear what witnesses heard the victim say in his final moments.
'How annoying.' The man thought, sipping his tea and glaring out of the window of the café he'd chosen to go to for breakfast.
Outside the café, the world seemed to be waking up. Tourists were going on their morning walks, locals were taking out their dogs to piss, and the man was watching them all. He did not want to be there. He wanted to be at home, in his office, with his portfolio and his reports. He did not want to be here.
Some people would see a visit to the Cotswolds as a vacation, he did not. He hated the country. He thought it boring. The people were boring, the landscape was boring, the food was boring, everything was boring, boring, boring.
The man took another quick sip of his tea. As he did so, a Jaguar pulled up on the curb next to the cafè. It was a nice car. Not like the man's Mercedes, but nothing really compared to German cars. The man did not see the driver until he came around to open up the passenger door.
He was older, with slicked back salt and pepper hair, wearing a dark blue suit that was immaculately pressed. The man thought of the suit he'd thrown away in a bin the other night. He'd hoped nobody had found it yet. The driver had a stern, professorial air about him that the man instantly disliked.
He never much liked authority. When he'd gone to school, he'd made it his mission to prank his teachers and his headmaster. They'd hated him.
The driver opened the car door and offered his arm to someone inside.
The man looked away, thinking it was probably some tourist taking his granny out to a cream tea for breakfast. That was until he heard the muttering from the waitresses.
"Is that her?"
"Oh, poor thing. She looks a sight—OW!"
"You would too if you broke into a burning building to save your dying uncle and then jumped two stories."
The man blanched at the waitress' words. 'Uncle? I thought it was a passer by on their bike who went into the house.'
The door chimed as it opened. The driver stood close to his passenger as she limped up to the cafè counter with her cane. The man tried to look at her discreetly, taking a sip of his tea and looking over his shoulder towards the clock on the wall.
The woman was wearing a black dress with prints of flowers on it and black penny loafers. Her left arm was in a sling, and she seemed to be favouring her left foot as well. The waitress had been right, she looked a mess.
The passenger and the driver perused the food momentarily before the driver gestured for the woman to sit down. The man looked away and tried to pretend he was not looking at them when he heard a soft cough.
"May I take this seat?"
The armchair next to him was empty. It made sense that an injured woman would want to sit there, but the man was nervous, even though he knew that he had left the murder scene long before she'd arrived. He looked up at her and nodded.
Her pale grey eyes crinkled at the edges when she gave a smile.
"Thank you," she said, sinking into the chair.
And that was when the man knew, his mother had made more than three mistakes in her life, he knew those eyes. Because they were his.
A/N
DUN DUN DUUUUUUUUUUN! I had so much fun with this chapter. Danica is based partially on Ruth from Widow’s Bay and my friend, Sheila. (She would be thrilled to have a character based on her. She used to be friends with Robin Hood in Disneyland in the 80’s. She’s a real character.)
The teddy bear bit is just because I’m autistic and so is Theo. Freddy Bear is a comfort object for her, and is also a part of her *tragic backstory*
What do you think about HIM? I figure it’s obvious what his relationship is to Theo but what do you think he means by his mother’s three mistakes?
