Being the eldest son of the Matron Mother Yvonnel Baenre is a burden that few would have the ambition to bear, much less the follow through, to become the most powerful male in a matriarchal society.
Gromph is a perpetual grump, and is never one to let a slight pass unnoticed. Like most male drow seeking any kind of meaningful position, he was ambitious in his arcane pursuits, rising to become the Archmage of the Sorcere.
He could be cautious when it came to his standing or upsetting any of the Matron Mothers. Gromph has been in a position to effect the course of the matriarchy, even destroy it, but has no interest in challenging the current status quo. Lolth is a capricious goddess and likely to notice such an attempt.
NOTABLE EVENTS
Gromph is a capable tactician and a ferocious magic user. He is creative in his use of spells and enchantments, often making use of unexpected resources. He defeated the Lichdrow Lord Dyrr, a cleric of Velsharoon, by destroying his phylactery and ensnaring his soul in an axe.
After the events of the Spellplague, Gromph attempted to summon the demon lord Demogorgon and failed miserably. Menzoberranzan was beset by demon lords, a massacre followed with thousands of drow dead and untold damage done. The Baenre family helped him escape to prevent his part in the ritual being discovered.
I had previously decided in my canon that the drow do not have a hugely significant wedding culture, it's usually treated as little more than a legal ceremony at most and even then that's usually only to validate the politics of the situation and determine things like final dowry payments for the groom and the legal obligation the wife takes on to care for his parents etc etc
But then I thought. Hmm. Drow love bondage nonsense. There's gotta be something about binding a male, both legally and literally
And then I thought, well, clearly whatever the equivalent of a drow hen's night is is a group of drunk, violent women running through the streets trying to lasso handsome men with spider-silk, and the woman with the most trophies by the end of the night is the winner (it's very bad form for the winner to be anyone except the bride, but also? They're competitive, Real Housewives of Menzoberranzan is banned in most civilised nations for a reason)
🕷️Year Of Birth - Minthara was born before 1297 DR. In one of her lines, she mentions that she remembers a scandalous event from the past – when Viconia DeVir, a noble female drow and a daughter of the fourth house of Menzoberranzan, disgraced her family:
Two hundred years ago, she disgraced her family - the DeVirs - by refusing to obey a divine order from Lolth. It was quite the scandal, and I was young enough that it left an impression on me.
House DeVir fell out of favour with Lolth because of Viconia's transgression and ultimately, in 1297 DR, they were attacked and destroyed by House Do'Urden. During this time, Minthara was likely in the first decade(s) of her life, since by drow standards, she was still young and impressionable.
It would mean that she was born at least several years earlier, likely between 1270 DR and 1290 DR.
🕷️Age In BG3 - during the events of Baldur's Gate 3, Minthara is over two hundred years old, but probably less than two hundred and thirty.
🕷️Name Meaning - Minthara's name means „minor / second rune” or something similar, being composed of female prefix Min- („lesser, minor, second”) and female suffix -thara („glyph, marker, rune”). The name was probably given to her by her mother shortly after birth, according to drow custom.
We do not know if the meaning of Minthara's name was important in any way to her mother. Sometimes drow names seem to be connected to the child's future profession, ambitions or fate, but in many cases, there is no such connection and a name is just a name. For example, the eldest daughter of Matron Mother Yvonnel Baenre was named Triel, which means simply „wing” or „bat”.
🔹If Minthara's name meaning is not accidental, it could imply that she is her mother's second daughter (but at the same time, the eldest living daughter).
Noble drow females typically value their eldest daughters the most, from early years grooming them to become their successors. Who knows - maybe in this case, the first daughter did not survive, ending up being assassinated by enemies, or simply failing to meet her mother's expectations. Then Minthara would be „the second try” kind of a child – her mother's second chance to raise a worthy successor, to strengthen her position in the family and in the society.
🔹It might explain why Minthara's mother considered her so special and important: I have been told that I am special since my mother first held me in her arms. The burden of expectation.
Normally, drow children are not considered overly special by their mothers. The usual exception is the eldest daughter, expected to take her mother's place in the society one day.
In the next post - thoughts about Minthy's childhood, family and the identity of her mother 🙂
For more of my drow lore ramblings, feel free to check my pinned post 🕷️
This is a collaborative work between @spillingteanotpermitted and @lottavilja featuring Imrae and Tav (Lymune). The idea was born when we realized that under certain circumstances, Imrae and Tav likely met when they were children. Plentiful hours of yapping later, we decided to write a fic about it. Up to this point, chapter 1 is finished and chapter 2 is in progress. As for what comes next, we don't know yet. However, to say it with the words of our favorite vampire, But isn't it nice--not to know?
Enjoy!
Summary:
Almost 100 years ago:
Tav is a highborn drow going by the name of Lymune, who has to flee the Underdark together with her mother.
Imrae is a highborn orphan and is owned by Lady Laele, who uses her ward however she pleases.
Astarion is a vampire who roams the streets of Baldur's Gate with the only goal to collect fools for his greedy master.
Today:
Among other survivors, Tav and Astarion are in search of a cure for their tadpole problem when they stumble upon a lone drow. As infected as they are, Imrae becomes part of the group.
Two drow and a vampire, the three of them band together rather quickly, exploring Faerûn as well as each other in pursuit of answers.
Parings: Astarion x Lymune (named Tav), Astarion x Imrae
Timeline: Act 1
Word count: 5,678
Content Warning: mention of forced marriage, mention of Astarion's past, light angst, mention of familial abuse
You'll find the AO3 link here.
Chapter 1: Abbil
The morning sun hasn’t yet found its way to the long neckline of the Sword Coast when Tav wakes from her reverie. Another memory has sneaked into her trance, transforming the night into a succession of winces and soft cries.
With shivering hands, she wipes away the humidity on her forehead, removing some loose strands of her chignon. Even at night, she prefers her hair woven like this.
A drow should always be prepared for a fight. And look dashing all the same. Never forget that, Lymune.
Tav can still hear her mother’s voice as if the proud and ferocious woman were standing right beside her. Not a day has passed that her mind wasn’t filled with the matriarch’s teachings. Not a single night without her face hunting her even in her dreams.
Just like now when she has relived the time, she and her mother escaped the Underdark because dozens of masked and skilled enemies had slaughtered every one of her family and all those belonging to House Uoswiir. Only thanks to the quick thinking of her mother and out of sheer luck, Vhaidra, her mother, Ulua, her aunt, and she, the only daughter, had survived the skirmish. And even more than seventy-five years later, she can still hear the devastating cries out of dying lungs and smell the stench of fire and blood and burned flesh.
The drow sits up in her tent, the bedroll hanging loosely over her bare shoulders. It’s not unusual that she relives this particular memory—stemming from a period before she ever set foot on the surface. But this time was different. This time a particular face stuck out from all the faces she has already forgotten over the years.
She even remembers his name: Imyaraen.
A boy of her age, Imyaraen was the first friendly face she met after weeks of running and hiding within the vastness of the Underdark. By the time, they reached the household of one of her mother’s allies, they got separated from Ulua. She was right behind them when the attack had started, and she knew her aunt had made it out alive—Vhaidra had retraced her steps once they had lost her. She was alive.
Lady Laele was a matriarch living outside of Menzoberranzan, the City of Spiders, and therefore it was safe seeking her aid.
Only until we’re strong enough to continue, her mother kept assuring her when the nightly serenity was still too fragile to even prepare a fire, and Tav—who was still Lymune at that time—sought warmth by her mother’s side. These were the only occasions her mother ever allowed her to nestle in her lap. With fingers as nimble as Lolth’s sharp chelicera and as soft as the web she spins, she brushed her hair, weaving the strands into small tresses, and sung a lullaby—one of the few songs there exist for children loyal to the Spider Queen. And Tav cherished every second of it.
When finally, they reached the place Lady Laele resided in, Tav was but skin and bone and too exhausted to walk on her own. Days passed with her in deep trance, and when she woke with limbs still aching and sore from too much exertion for such a young being, it was Imyaraen’s face which met her out of curious and clever eyes.
And it was exactly that moment Tav has seen in her reverie just now. The moment when the boy of her age would become her dearest friend for the course of two spider circles—the means with which drow measure time, one circle being the equivalent to approximately a month.
Imyaraen. Tav hasn’t thought about him for a very long time. She doesn’t want to if she is being honest because of the way they had to say their goodbyes.
Taking a long sigh, she returns to her preferred trance position. She knows Astarion is already awake and probably squatting somewhere nearby. Sometimes the two of them remain side by side until the others wake from their sleep.
The vampire who is as much a high elf, rests even less than she does, and on more than one occasion, she has found him deep in thought beside the dead fire, staring into the darkness with a blank expression. He hasn’t shared much about his past, only had the tadpole not found him, he would still be living under the rule of a cruel vampire master.
Tav has recognized the signs of past experiences so vicious and horrible that they cling to the person having lived them. She showed these signs herself, saw them on so many people over the years she spent travelling the lands of Faerûn. She hasn’t asked about it. He only needs to know that should he ever feel like sharing something, she will be there for him.
Slowly, she delves back into her trance, deciding to rest for another hour or so before joining the lone elf by the cold fire, waiting for the others to awake as well.
꒰ঌ♡໒꒱
“Are you sure that’s where we’ll find the devil, Wyll?” Gale asks, skepticism making him sound a bit like a boy whose voice has just broken.
“Relax, Gale. I know exactly where we are going. Latest sightings are a couple of miles from here.” Wyll’s smile is benevolent and very polite, and Tav doesn’t wonder for the first time what exactly it is about the Blade of Frontier that just seems a bit off—a bit too perfect.
“As if hunting devils were the least of our concern.” Astarion waves through his curls, a habit of showing his disapproval—something which happens quite often, his meticulously styled hair a proof of that.
“What’s so funny?” Shadowheart closes the distance, nudging Tav’s arm, who etches her gaze away from the handsome elf.
“Nothing, snoopy. Just admiring the wildlife,” she lies, blushing slightly—despite her bardic nature, she is not particularly skilled in hiding her own emotions.
“Yeah, sure,” the black-haired cleric mocks, linking her arm with Tav’s.
“Chk. Astarion is right. This is a waste of time! Instead of hunting devils, we should find my kin to get purification.” Lae’zel’s expression is as grim as ever when she voices her objection.
“I never said we should replace one stupidity with another, darling.” Astarion pivots around with one of his overly charming smiles.
“Kaincha, watch your tongue, vampling!” The gith retaliates with the only language she knows, her glare fierce and threatening.
“It’s spawn to you. Vampling is reserved only for my good friends. Right, Tav?” His eyes dart to the drow, who follows the convoy with Shadowheart still by her side.
“Huh? Oh sorry, I wasn’t listening to all that whining between you guys.” She winks at him and Astarion scoffs as if offended. He knows Tav is not really mean.
Shadowheart chuckles. “Well spoken. Now c’mon before we lose the path again because Wyll is too proud to admit he’s blind on one eye.”
“I am not!” The warlock in question stops walking and glares at Shadowheart with his arms akimbo.
“Sure, you are. But we value you all the same,” Gale says as he passes him by, prompting a scowl from Wyll and a delightful squeak from Astarion.
They continue their march until Astarion signals them to halt, having picked up a whiff of something in the air.
“I smell decay somewhere nearby. A predator is roaming the area. Maybe a bear. Better be careful.”
Where before there was easy banter, the party falls silent immediately, mindfully inspecting the surroundings until they stand before the entrance of a big cave.
“What have we here?” Astarion exhales in delight. “I bet there’s a lot of gold from all the sodding fools who ended up as snacks for something gluttonous, no doubt.”
“You just warned us to be careful and now you want to enter that cave because you are greedy?” Gale challenges, scratching his head in incredulity.
“Now where’s that famous wizard’s spine everyone keeps talking about? Don’t worry, Gale. I’m not suggesting to rampage inside.”
“Should all of us go or only a few?” Wyll asks. “I would gladly stay here and make sure no one jumpscares you from outside.”
“A good plan. And two guards see even better than a blind one,” Shadowheart quips, letting the others know she will stay behind too.”
“Chk, I’ll go hunting. Once you’re done sneaking around aimlessly, we’ll have at least dinner.”
“Don’t heat the pot without me,” Gale calls after Lae’zel, who is already heading into the thicket of the forest.
“So, only the three of us then?” Astarion croons suggestively, making Gale roll his eyes and Tav’s cheek blush. Just as he intended.
“Let’s get inside before I change my mind,” she says, crouching forward and entering the cave with Gale and Astarion at the rear.
The drow’s survival skills are a lot better than Gale’s, and Astarion favors the umbra of her frame, using it to his advantage should they rush into danger.
The further they creep in, the darker it gets and the mustier and more pungent the air becomes.
Astarion and Tav navigate forward, both making use of their darkvision. Gale stumbles behind, and soon, he stops, not knowing which way is forward and which way is back.
“Are you lost, sunny boy?” Astarion whispers when he realizes he has lost Gale to the shadows behind him.
“Argh, don’t call me that,” comes Gale’s muffled voice from behind followed by a *clonk* and a hissing curse in Netherese—the language Gale reserves for his particularly nasty curses.
Astarion snickers and even Tav stifles a laugh.
“I’ll get you. Stay where you are.” She turns around and heads towards Gale.
“Wait a minute. I—I sense something. Some magic. Tav!” Gale’s voice takes on an excited tinge, and then he conjures a small wisp of light.
“Ugh,” Astarion scoffs, “so much for cloak and dagger.”
“Look!” Gale exclaims, pointing at the wall where a glowing circle with illegible signs has been placed. “A glyph of warding. We’re not alone in this cave. Someone is here too. Someone very skilled in magic, no less. This is truly interesting. I haven’t seen this particular formula in ages.”
“Stop rumbling, wizard. What are you saying?” Astarion sounds impatient.
“I’m saying someone very powerful has passed only recently. See, the carvings are still glowing, and there are fresh footprints.”
“Could be friend or could be foe,” Tav deduces, frowning. “Can you disarm the glyph?”
“Of course I can. Who do you think I am? An adept?”
“Just do it, Gale,” she says quietly with a small smile.
When she looks like this, her drow heritage comes especially through, Gale thinks, feeling a bit uncomfortable, and gets to work immediately.
Meanwhile, Astarion and Tav wait a couple of steps away from Gale—only in case the prodigy miscalculated his skills.
“You had a nightmare tonight, didn’t you?” Astarion leans in when he asks her the question, not wanting to include Gale in their conversation.
“How did you—” She doesn’t finish voicing her displeasure when she sees the compassionate expression on his face.
“Your heart was racing, I almost feared for your health. Why didn’t you join me? You know I only trance the first quarter of the night.”
“I—well, I wasn’t sure you’d want me there. I would have bored you with my memory anyway.”
“Don’t be foolish. You wouldn’t have. I can very much relate. Even as a vampire, I experience reverie very much the same as any other elf.”
“Oh, so you also have nightmares?”
He doesn’t respond, his gaze probing. Then he asks, “What was your nightmare about?”
She sighs, reluctant to speak about her past. But, she thinks, perhaps it will encourage him to open up as well. “I relived the time I spent running away with my mother. You know, I told you that we had to leave the Underdark.” She waits for him to signal he remembers their conversation a couple of weeks ago. “For a couple of months, we found shelter in an ally’s household. I met my very first friend there.”
“That doesn’t sound so unpleasant. So, what happened?”
“My friend—you see, males are not much worth where I come from. Especially if they have no family. My friend—he didn’t have a good life there. And I couldn’t protect him.”
“I see. Is he dead?”
“No,” she says, anxious. “I hope not. When I left with my mother, I wanted to take him with us. I wanted to save him. He was like a brother to me. But I couldn’t.”
Astarion hums, his eyes turning sorrowful. “I’m sure he understood that, Tav.”
“I hope so.” She smiles meekly, having picked up a hinge of falsehood in his voice. “I hope he got out eventually.”
Their eyes lock for a moment before Astarion waves through his curls and recedes a bit.
“Your heart is too big, little drow,” he says without mirth. “Don’t let anyone crash it. Or I’ll have to crash them.”
Tav chuckles lightly, but Astarion remains serious. For the first time since the moment, he died on the asphalt with a dagger in his heart, he has been given another chance of protecting someone else beside himself. Thousands of souls doomed because of him, and now as he is standing in front of that little drow with a too big heart, a part of him wishes to repay his dept by watching out for her. Another part wants to grapple him for harboring such stupid desires.
A soft cough coming from Gale disturbs the somberness that has befallen the two of them, and Tav concentrates on the wizard, who presents her the now empty wall.
“Ready to go. Whoever made this, shouldn’t be aware of our trespassing.”
The three of them return to a crouched position and crawl further into the cave with Gale holding Tav’s hand so he doesn’t get lost. It doesn’t take long, and the cave becomes brighter as the ceiling is cracked at multiple places, and sunlight pours in.
Soon they pass a crossroads with one path leading further in and another leading down towards a small stream of water. Gale nods towards the path leading down, and another minute later, they see a figure standing on the shore. Wearing a simple robe with no visual weapon attached to their body, they have their back toward them, and so the small party dares to advance.
The closer they get, the more they see and hear of the person. Shoulder-long white hair, dressed in a navy-blue robe with long sleeves, the man is humming a tune in a dark and even voice. He is holding a small, cylindric object, but the companions cannot see what exactly it is.
When they are close enough to communicate with the stranger without having to shout, Tav signals to stop.
Without further directions, Astarion reaches for his hand crossbow and Gale connects with the Weave, one of his fire spells on his lips. Tav stretches her hands out for the stranger to see she means no harm and steps forward, deliberately kicking a stone.
The sudden sound makes the person before them spin with both elegance and dexterity, his body flexing and tense, the small object miraculously disappearing out of his hand.
Tav takes in a sharp inhale.
The man before her, who must be of her age, has a sharp-edged face with white drow-lit eyes and a skin the same color as hers. His stare is fierce and vigilant. And even under all the dark ink adorning his face and neck, Tav recognizes the person immediately.
But before she can say anything, his hands elevate, curling and uncurling into signs and gestures Tav knows all too well.
“He’s using drow sign language,” she addresses her companions without leaving him out of sight.
Upon hearing her words, the man stops instantly, skimming between Tav, Gale, and Astarion.
“Who are you?” he asks in common, his voice carrying the same low tune as before when he was humming.
“My name is… Tav. And these are Gale and Astarion. A pleasure to meet you.”
He crosses his arms, indicating that he, too, comes in peace. “I’d suggest you tone down your voice. There is a nesting owlbear deeper into the cave. Mother and one cub.”
Tav looks around and so do Gale and Astarion with concerned expressions.
“Thank you…” she says, taking on the same low volume as the man in front of her.
“You can call me Imrae.”
“Were those your glyphs?” Gale asks, no longer able to hold back his curiosity. “How old are you?”
Astarion scoffs. “There is an owlbear mother with her cub nearby, ready to shred anyone into pieces if they come too close, and you want to exchange numbers? Sometimes I wonder whether you are just stupid or merely abysmally naïve.”
Imrae chuckles lightly, but then focuses on the pouting wizard. “Indeed, these are mine. Or were, as it seems you managed to disarm them. Good eyes, bravo. But I am not as old as the glyphs might make it seem. I saw the technique in an old temple.”
“So, what are you doing down here, Imrae?” Tav asks, approaching him carefully so that they can understand each other better.
“I was studying the local fauna on my way to—”
He and Tav wince simultaneously, and while their tadpoles connect, Astarion and Gale feel the familiar tingle in their minds but without a connection of their own.
As Tav’s tadpole links with Imrae’s, she sees the familiar gloom of the Underdark, brightened by the flashes of spells, and surrounded by armored soldiers bearing the symbol of the Absolute. She hears the rumble of stone as it splits and bends before the connections cuts off.
“You’re familiar with our condition?” Gale asks while Tav is shaking her head to clear her mind from the memories she just witnessed.
“Yes. And we do need help as soon as possible. There are healers in the Underdark who have tried to cure either possession by an intellect devourer or illithid infection by surgical means, but those procedures are both ineffective and fatal. There are a handful of independent mind flayers down there, they might help for the right price. Unless you have a better lead?”
“We’d have to go to the Underdark? Are you mad?” comes Astarion’s high-pitched voice.
Imrae chuckles, locking eyes with the vampire. “Yes, to both. At least if you ask people about the latter. As for the former, no worries. I have guided others through the Underdark before. You will be safe.”
“Actually, we do have a lead or two,” Tav chimes in, her mind her own again.
“That is marvelous to hear. May I offer my services in return for joining your expedition to find a cure for our shared affliction?”
Tav, Gale, and Astarion exchange probing glances.
“Are you with the Absolute?” Tav asks, her tone taking on the usual grave tilt when she interrogates people for their intentions.
“Hah!” Imrae snorts. “No. They wished to recruit me to their cause and did not take a no for an answer. I fought for my freedom, but they overwhelmed me. I am, in the end, only one man. The next thing I remember is crawling out of the wreck of a mind flayer pod and into blinding sunlight.”
“What did they want with you?” Tav resumes questioning.
Imrae doesn’t seem to mind her scrutiny and answers her with patience and a faint smile. “That I do not know, but I gleaned that they are recruiting renegades, the exiles, the lost, the houseless. I happen to like that state of being for myself, so I declined their offer of becoming part of something great. If you wish to avenge yourselves, I would be glad to join in, and make my own displeasure known to this cult.”
“Revenge? I think I like him already,” Astarion purrs, showing his fangs in a suggestive grin.
Imrae winces lightly upon realizing who or rather what the man before him is. But instead of fear, a hint of intrigue gleams in his eyes, and he observes Astarion curiously.
Tav ignores her companion’s remark, her gaze still not giving away whether she trusts the not-so stranger or not.
“You were alone in the Underdark?” she asks.
Imrae’s gaze returns to her, and the muscles of both ends of his mouth flex. Tav’s heart clenches when she recognizes the profound sadness in his smile. “But of course,” he says. “I like my peace and quiet, and nowhere is it quieter than in ruins that even time forgot about.”
“What do you think?” She turns towards her companions, seeking their opinion.
“Another drow!” Astarion sighs playfully. “Now we have a set. Who of you is our Drizzt, and who is our Jarlaxle?" He laughs heartily at his own joke, receiving a glare from Tav and another chuckle from Imrae.
"Wonderful! A fellow student of the arcane. His glyphs are most peculiar, I hope he is willing to share a secret or two among colleagues."
“Absolutely,” Imrae promises, making Gale beam.
“It’s settled then. C’mon, you should meet the rest of the gang.”
꒰ঌ♡໒꒱
As the night falls quiet with the companions successively leaving for their tents and Astarion for the forest to hunt, Tav and Imrae remain by the crackling fire.
Everyone was polite when Tav introduced their new traveling companion, and only Lae’zel scoffed as if offended. But even the gith dismissed her scowl once Imrae began telling them about his adventures in the Underdark. And when the last scrap of meat was swallowed down, the two of them were locked in a conversation about mind flayer killing techniques, each sharing their most successful kills in gory detail, making Wyll gag loudly and Shadowheart pout in disgust. Only Astarion seemed eager to listen to the very end, his eyes not leaving the newcomer as he recounted details about his hazardous life.
Tav places another log of wood into the hungry flames, curling deeper into her bedroll to prevent the heat from leaving into the cold air.
“You must be living for quite some time on the surface,” Imrae remarks without mockery in his voice.
“In fact, I do. I fear I’m no longer used to the frigidity of the Underdark.”
“How long then? How long have you been up here?”
“Almost all my life. My mother and I had to flee because our House was claimed by enemies.” She observes him for any reaction as to see if he recognizes her.
Imrae nods understandingly, but nothing suggests he identifies her. “A shame”, he says, staring into the flames.
“So, Imrae. I—I want to be honest with you since you don’t seem to remember me.”
He looks up, a hint of surprise on his handsome face, and observes her thoroughly. “My apologies, Tav. I fear I do not.”
“Well, it might be the name which is leading you on a false track. How about Lymune?”
“Lymune?” A moment passes and recognition lays claim to his features, his even eyebrows shooting up. “Lymune! House Uoswiir. You and your mother stayed at—” He freezes for a second. “That is such a long time ago. I can’t believe it!”
“I know,” Tav says, her eyes brimming with tears. “And I was sure I would never see you again.”
For a moment, no one says anything, both appearing uncertain of how to venture further from here.
“And especially not under such dire circumstances,” he finally keeps up the conversation.
“Right?”
They both chuckle timidly. Despite their shared past there lingers a huge amount of strangeness between them, and Tav doubts the man before her is the same boy she met when they were still children.
“So, what happened? You reached the surface, I presume. And then what?” Imrae asks.
“We lived there for a couple of years—me and my mother—moving a lot so no one would catch us. But we grew apart. You know, she held on to all those stupid drow customs, the only thing on her mind revenge on our enemies, whereas I became a proper surface dweller. Bullying tieflings is only funny as long as they are not your friends. I—I just couldn’t do it anymore. And so I left. Became a bard. Changed my name. I became someone else.”
“Tav. An unusual name.”
“Yeah, that’s probably because I made it up—well, with the help from someone very dear to me. It’s supposed to remind me of the person I left behind—Lymune. She had to die for Tav to live.”
“What about your mother? I assume she would not have allowed you to leave her. As I remember her correctly, she was a very proud drow.”
“Yes, she was. No, I planned my escape for months. I ran away. Ran as fast and as far away as I could. I don’t know what happened to her. Maybe she and my aunt reclaimed her House. Maybe she died trying. I try not to think about her too often. But enough of me. What about you? You didn’t change your name, only cut it short.”
“Imyaraen is just too long for a name, don’t you think?” He chuckles nervously, his hand reaching his ears and rubbing the ring attached to his earlobe.
“I’m sorry, I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.”
“You don’t. It’s just—I don’t talk about my past very often. This particular past, you know. But I want to share it—with you.”
Tav nods, smiling encouragingly.
“I left before Laele could sell me to become someone’s husband. You remember her, yes?”
“Yes, I do,” Tav growls, recalling all too well the condescending tone whenever she was addressing Imrae. What she doesn’t remember is the part about a forced marriage. “She wanted to sell you to someone?”
“I was her most guarded treasure. Nobility of origin without a family to lay claim to, I was like a rare spidersilk armor laying in a corner of a lost dungeon. She only had to pluck me, and I was hers.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, feeling the urge to pull him into an embrace. She doesn’t, unsure whether he would appreciate the touch after everything he just told her.
“Don’t be.” His smile is genuine. “It took me a while, but I got out, eventually. It wasn’t as planned as your escape, though. I was lucky to have survived the first night. I escaped into the vastness of the Underdark, learned I wasn’t so powerless after all. My innate sorcery saved my life more than once, and even though I’m self-taught, I can handle myself pretty well.”
“Yeah, Gale doesn’t often compliment others on their skills. He was really impressed.”
“I read a lot. Whenever I could get my hands on books on the arcane art I either bought them or stole them, whatever the occasion allowed me to do.”
“I’m so glad you got out. What she did to you… You know, I was devastated when my mother and I left you there.”
“You had no choice. I wish I could have gone with you that day—alas, I would only have gotten you killed.”
“Who dares to kill my little drow?” Astarion suddenly emerges out of nowhere, settling between Tav and Imrae as nimble as a cat, his hands still stained with blood and earth from his hunt.
“Astarion, glad you’re joining us. Remember what I told you earlier about the nightmare I had?”
“About the boy you had to leave behind?”
“Exactly. Astarion, this is him. This is the boy I told you about.”
Astarion leans back, observing Imrae from head to toe before addressing Tav again. “He doesn’t appear so helpless to me.”
Both Tav and Imrae chuckle, and Astarion grins while glancing between both drow.
“I got a bit older since then,” Imrae says under a broad smile. “And stronger.”
“Indeed, you have. Those glyphs you put on the wall will occupy our dear wizard’s mind for weeks.”
“How old exactly were you when you left?” Tav asks.
“Twenty-ish. Truth be told, I lost count of the years I spent under her ‘protection’.”
“Protection?” Astarion asks, cocking a brow.
“Well, Lady Laele took me in after my parents had died. She nurtured me, gave me shelter. At least that is what she used to tell me to remind me of my debt to her. No begging, no gentle pleas could have stopped her from handing me over to noblewomen to be their plaything, excuse me, 'consort', so I had to flee.”
Astarion’s expression darkens, his voice low and stressing every syllable, “She abused you?”
Imrae’s gaze falls onto his lap, the corner of his mouth twitching slightly. “Yes, one could say that. Although, as a high elf—if I guess correctly—” he meets Astarion’s eyes, “you are not accustomed to drow traditions regarding gender. I was an orphan. I was a male orphan. My fate could have been a lot worse.”
“Oh, and how worse exactly could that be?” Astarion almost chokes on his own words.
“He could have died, Astarion,” Tav says with a gentle voice.
“Sometimes death is the better option, believe me,” Astarion whispers, meeting her tender gaze, his eyes turning sad.
“Well, by sheer dumb luck, I did not die, and I freed myself. How does that saying go, all's well that ends well?”
“Is she still alive?” Astarion turns to Imrae again.
“I suppose. Why?”
“Don’t you seek revenge? Don’t you want to see her throat slit and her intestines spilled on the floor?”
“No. Why would I? She will never dare touch me again. And if she did try, then I would kill her nice and clean.”
There is a fire in Astarion’s stare, piercing the drow. But it only lasts a couple of seconds, and his gaze returns to the usual crimson coquetry.
“And what about you, Tav? If your mother came for you, would you kill her?” he asks, refocusing on Tav again.
“If she came for me as in take revenge, you mean?”
“Exactly.”
“Yes, I would. Without hesitation.”
“So, no trying to convince her as you usually do with people we meet?” And to Imrae, he clarifies, “She’s a fucking puppy saver.”
“I’m not!” Tav pushes him and he collides with Imrae’s shoulder. “I’m just not a dick like you are sometimes.”
“Now that is just rude. But hear me out. With another such charming drow,” he gesticulates between Tav and Imrae, “maybe our adventures become a tad more exciting from now on.”
“Dick.”
Imrae snickers, Astarion chuckles, and eventually Tav snorts out a laugh. They keep teasing each other until a very angry Lae’zel threatens to gut them all if they don’t keep it quiet.
“Okay, let’s call it a night. Imrae, you can share a tent with me if you want,” Tav offers.
“No need. I prefer the naked stone. My bedroll is all I need.”
“Not even a cushion?” she asks, almost befuddled.
“A cushion would be nice. If you can spare one.”
“Phew,” Astarion evades Tav’s hand this time. “She’s the mother of cushions. I don’t even know where she stores all that crap, she keeps around in her tent.”
“It’s only cushions, Astarion. And last I checked, you nicked one for yourself.”
“You’ll get it back, I promise.” He pouts adorably, making her forget for a second what they were talking about in the first place.
“No need.” She blushes. “You can keep it. And Imrae,” she turns to him, “just take what you need. You’re part of our group now.”
“Thank you. It’s nice to travel with company for a change.”
“You’ll regret saying that once you’ve listened to our dear wizard for a whole afternoon,” Astarion croons. “This man doesn’t need to breathe more than I do once he’s found something to talk about.”
“Stop being so mean to Gale all the time. He really doesn’t deserve all your mockery.”
“You’re right, of course.” Leaning towards Imrae, he whispers loud enough for Tav to hear, “wait until it’s her time to cook with him. You haven’t heard so many expletives in one sentence, I promise you.”
Tav shakes her head scoldingly, but her smile reveals how delighted she is with Astarion’s flippant tongue. He nudges her tenderly, before he bids them both a good night.
Tav and Imrae remain rooted by the fire for a moment, watching the fair-haired elf disappear into his tent.
“These are nice people, Imrae. I can promise you that,” she says once she’s alone with him, shoveling earth into the pit with her foot to douse the flames.
“I believe you. And I meant what I said. The road can be a lonely place, and freedom had its price. I am glad for the company, and to have met you again, Lymune—Tav. Apologies.”
“It’s alright. No one knows my real name apart from you. And I would prefer it stays that way.”
“Of course. Have a restful night, Tav.”
“You too, Imrae. See you tomorrow morning.”
They part ways with Imrae climbing on top of a rock with his bedroll and a cushion under his arm, which he picked out of Tav’s tent. Tav crawls inside her bunker, snuggling into her bedroll.
Moments pass, and she hears Imrae’s soft voice singing the same lullaby as he did when they met him today. And now that she lies there relaxed and happy, she remembers where she heard the tune before. This was the first song she chose to play when Cashoon taught her the flute. The song that her very best friend had sung over and over back when she and her mother had fled the Underdark.
She closes her eyes, a smile on her lips, as she hums the tune together with Imrae.
"The average drow lifespan is 750 years" factoid is actually just statistical error. The average drow in drow society doesn't make it past 400. Lichdrow Dyrr, who lived over two millennia due to ascending to lichdom, is an outlier adn should not have been counted.
ANOTHA ONE... what type of fabric is most commonly used?
All about culture: || X ||
ᒥ🕷ᒧ— So, a lot of this is speculation for Commoners of Menzoberranzan, as most books go into Noble Families (Baenre, Do'Urden, Mizzrym, etc...) and their attire, which I assume is wildly different. I assume most daily clothing/under garments are composed of wool, leather (both harvested from Deep Rothe), and silk (from Spiders) for the middle/lower classes in Menzoberranzan. Once again, I suspect high quality material is too pricey and thus reserved for the upper class and Nobility (satins, velvets, probably even cotton since it would have to be harvested from the Surface). What would be in abundance, though, is armor; my guess--for heavy, thick armor--is steel in various qualities (the higher the quality, the more expensive). Drow made is the preference among most, but Dwarven armor can be seen by those who understand quality armor is above prejudice. We see this with Weapons Master Ryld Argith who happily sported Dwarven made armor despite others finding it distasteful. For light armor, obviously there is that preference for leather.
Rinnill sported wool daily clothing and leather armor, as he was a Commoner. No enchants except for that standard, simple black piwafwi. Almost all Drow sport a piwafwi (the Drow version of a Cloak of Elvenkind), which has a light enchantment to boost stealth and is made of Spider silk. Nobility would wear piwafwi with intricate designs and more enchantments. Piwafwi are rare on the Surface as the Faerzress infused garments will actually disintegrate in Sunlight.
