I’m lowkey feeling this urge to rewrite chunks of Llewelyn’s lore so it’s less edgy. It probably isn’t *as* edgy as I think it is but I’m always nervous he’s actually a super cringe and edgy character.
I know I don’t post a lot about his lore (mostly because there’s bits missing and I often change my mind so I don’t wanna post something then be like oh uh actually I scrapped that completely).
I tend to gravitate towards a specific kind of writing with his lore (I love making him sad what can I say) but I’m wondering from a writing/storyline aspect if he’s got too much sad stuff going at once 🤔
I’ll figure it out eventually but perhaps it’s time for metamorphosis for both of us.
Thank you @gloura for tagging me. I will leave the tags open!!
I haven’t worked on anything lately except one of the scenes I wrote and my BG3 house level. So I’m going to upload the scene again :3
Llewelyn is having nightmares, he has a hard time adjusting to normal life even after being out of the underdark for years. His husband, Astraeus, helps him cope with the nightmares in the middle of the night. (Idrk how else to describe this scene, it’s angsty, it’s domestic, I wrote it in a few hours before my night shift on Thursday. I hope you all enjoy).
Llewelyn is 5 years old. There is blood on the stone outside his house. A coppery smell fills the air. Thick crimson stains his hands and his shirt. His father is scrubbing his clothes, angrily glaring at him. The man who had tried to hurt him and his father is gone.
Llewelyn is 8 years old. His first time in the temple. His father did not want to pick him up to see the priestesses below. His mother made him. There was man on the altar. The priestesses chanted, the room began to fill with frenzied voices. Digging their blades into the man, they left him split open for Lolth. The man's screams echoed through Llewelyn's ears. His abdomen was shredded, his blood pooled on the altar, dripping onto the floor. His eyes empty and dull. That same copper smell fills the air. The chants and cheers muffle against Llewelyn's thoughts. This could be his fate. This could be his fate if he invoked the wrath of Lolth.
Llewelyn is 90. His blade is piercing the belly of Kalan, his first love. His breath on Llewelyn's face as he grips his shoulder. Almost close enough for a kiss. The sheer terror and shock within Kalan's eyes bore into Llewelyn. The Matron and her men blurred, he could only see Kalan's face. He could only focus on the light dimming in his eyes. His body falling limp. His blood on Llewelyn's hands. Llewelyn felt himself panting. The smell of it all and the sight of it all made him want to puke.
Kalan's eyes, the man on the altar, his father washing his clothes. Blood pooling at his feet, something grabs his ankle. Blood rushing to his waist, something grabs his shoulder. He tries to scream as he's pulled down. Things clawing at him. The smell of it all. The sight of it all. Kalan. The man. His father. Bodies. Blood. Gore. It follows him everywhere. Lolth's curse follows him everywhere.
Llewelyn jolts awake, covered in a damp sweat, breathing heavily. Even in his trance he cannot find respite from his past. It looms over him like a shadow. As he sat at the edge of his bed, he felt another body stir.
"Which one was it this time?" Llewelyn sat staring at the wooden floor, trying to compose himself. Unable to face the man talking to him. He hated being seen like this. Especially by his own husband.
"There were a few different ones," Llewelyn paused and peered over his shoulder, "go back to sleep."
Llewelyn felt a hand rubbing circles on his back, a chin on his shoulder.
"Let me stay awake with you. Please." He could hear the pleading in his husband's voice. He could feel his eyes burning into his skin.
"Astraeus…" Llewelyn sighed. He hated being loved. It was one of the hardest things he let himself do. Letting himself get dissected, hoping every piece of him would be swallowed and savored as it was. Even now after so many years of being together he still could not get used to how loved he was. Astraeus had seen the barest parts of himself and still chose him time after time. He was not used to being loved but he could not stop it, so again, he let himself be dissected.
He met his husband's eyes, golden and worrisome. Just as he thought. A tinge of guilt surged through Llewelyn as he looked upon Astraeus's freckled face. He was going to push him away, again, and why? So he could suffer in silence? Pretend everything was okay even when his husband knew things weren't? He could not spend a lifetime doing that to him.
Astraeus took Llewelyn's hand and led him down the stairs into their kitchen. Their footsteps creaking throughout the house. Starlight twinkled through the windows and danced upon the floor. It wasn't the first time Llewelyn woke up in the dead of night, and it wouldn't be the last.
Llewelyn sat at the kitchen table, watching as Astraeus put on the kettle for them. His golden hair messy, his eyes still lidded with the remnants of sleep. Even in his tired state he still radiated beauty. Astraeus turned to see Llewelyn staring and flashed him a quick smile before going back to making their tea.
Setting the tea down on the table, Astraeus sat next to Llewelyn and took his hand. There was a moment of silence that hung in the air. Llewelyn knew he would not be pressured to speak but the silence killed him. His body was numb, images flashed into his mind. He had to speak or he'd be consumed.
"I… I was 5. I saw my father cleaning the blood off my clothes. He had just killed a man who had tried to kill me for accidentally destroying his crops. Then I was 8. In her temple, my first time. I saw my first sacrifice. I can still hear that man scream. I don't even know who he was or what he did. Just that he was to be made a spectacle of. Then I was 90 and… and… gods there was…so much blood…" His voice trailed off.
His mouth had turned to dust and his chest had grown heavy. Astraeus said nothing in response, not that there was anything to say anyways. He pulled Llewelyn close, kissed his head, and gently rubbed his arm. Llewelyn breathed him in, the scent of cinnamon and honey. Silence washed over them again. There was a tenderness to it this time. Llewelyn pushed away the scenes flashing in his mind. He tried to focus on Astraeus. His gentle touch. His smell. His skin. He wanted to crawl within Astraeus's chest and nestle himself into his heart so he could feel his warmth and his love for eternity. So they could never be apart. Where he'd be safe from the nightmares forever and where Lolth's curse didn't dare follow. Instead Llewelyn buried himself into his husband's neck and muttered,
"I wish you chose someone else. That you loved someone else. Someone who isn't me. Someone normal who won't wake you up in the middle of the night with his nightmares." Llewelyn felt Astraeus's hand on his head, his fingers in his hair. He felt him sigh. Then Astraeus brought his hand to his chin, gently lifting his head so they were face to face. Sorrow was plastered across his face. A deep pain was set in his eyes, they looked duller than usual. Something that often occurred when Astraeus was saddened by something.
"Why do you speak so ill about someone I choose to love? I wake up in the night for you and sit with you not because I have to but because I want to. I love many things and none you talk down on. But the thing that I love the most, you loathe. I love you, every part of you, and I wish you could accept that," Astraeus paused for a moment, stroking Llewelyn's cheek, "I wish you could see yourself the way I see you." Tears welled in Llewelyn's eyes, his words were so soft and gentle and he could not stand it. They struck him like a knife, he was being carved up again, he could feel every inch of himself being laid bare for Astraeus. He did not deserve such tenderness but he could not continue to hurt his love like this. Burying himself into Astraeus's neck, tears streamed down his face.
"I'm sorry… I'm so sorry." Llewelyn's voice was hoarse as he cried into Astraeus.
Astraeus's arms tightened around him, he continued to rub Llewelyn's back. Whispering reassurances into his ear, kissing his head and ears. Llewelyn could feel him trying to hold back his own tears. For many years they laid their lives on the line for each other, ready to sacrifice everything for the other. It was easy, Llewelyn does it without a second thought, rushing into danger just to give his lover a chance at life. Yet something as simple as this was agonizing for him. The act of being loved. Being cared for. Sometimes he fought tooth and nail to resist it and it was hurting the very man he trusted his life with, whom he loved more deeply than anything else.
They sat like that for few moments, Llewelyn listening to Astraeus breathe. Listening to his heart thrum in his chest. Trying to settle into the comfort of his lover's touch. He was here with him. Alive. Lolth's curse had not gotten them yet. Not completely anyway. But it was tearing at them and Llewelyn couldn't let that happen.
Llewelyn picked his head up, through glossy eyes he looked at Astraeus and whispered,
"I love you. I love you so much it hurts. And I will try to love myself for you." Then he kissed Astraeus deeply and passionately, trying to savor every part of him, every part of this moment. As raw as it felt, he never wanted to forget this. He wanted to cling to this act of love and devotion, he wanted to carve it into his flesh with all the other acts of love and devotion Astraeus had showed him. He wanted to devour him and be devoured, so that they could be one, so that they could never part. To become an ourobous of unyielding devotion.
The premise is Llewelyn is having a nightmare, he’s being soothed by his husband and he’s having a hard time coping with living a normal domestic life cause trauma and all that jazz. It’s pretty simple, a bit melodramatic, kind of angsty but I think it’s good.
Nothing too graphic although the nightmares are violent and I describe like a dude who got sacrificed but the nightmares are only in the first 4 paragraphs. All the nightmares do involve death/murder in some capacity. You can skip over it if you’d like, the content of the nightmares is not *really* the main focus here.
Anyways I hope you all enjoy :3
(Also it’s yet again 3am here idk why I’m posting this rn)
Llewelyn is 5 years old. There is blood on the stone outside his house. A coppery smell fills his nose. The thick crimson stains his hands and his shirt. His father is scrubbing his clothes. Angrily glaring at him. The man who had tried to hurt him and his father is gone.
Llewelyn is 8 years old. His first time in the temple. His father did not want to pick him up to see the priestesses below. His mother made him. There was man on the altar. The priestesses chanted, the room began to fill with frenzied voices. Digging their blades into the man, they left him split open for Lolth. The man's screams echoed through Llewelyn's ears. His abdomen was shredded, his blood pooled on the altar, dripping onto the floor. His eyes empty and dull. That same copper smell fills the air. The chants and cheers muffle against Llewelyn's thoughts. This could be his fate. This could be his fate if he invoked the wrath of Lolth.
Llewelyn is 90. His blade is piercing the belly of Kalan, his first love. His breath on Llewelyn's face as he grips his shoulder. Almost close enough for a kiss. The sheer terror and shock within Kalan's eyes bore into Llewelyn. The Matron and her men blurred, he could only see Kalan's face. He could only focus on the light dimming in his eyes. His body falling limp. His blood on Llewelyn's hands. Llewelyn felt himself panting. The smell of it all and the sight of it all made him want to puke.
Kalan's eyes, the man on the altar, his father washing his clothes. Blood pooling at his feet, something grabs his ankle. Blood rushing to his waist, something grabs his shoulder. He tries to scream as he's pulled down. Things clawing at him. The smell of it all. The sight of it all. Kalan. The man. His father. Bodies. Blood. Gore. It follows him everywhere. Lolth's curse follows him everywhere.
Llewelyn jolts awake, covered in a damp sweat, breathing heavily. Even in his trance he cannot find respite from his past. It looms over him like a shadow. As he sat at the edge of his bed, he felt another body stir.
"Which one was it this time?" Llewelyn sat staring at the wooden floor, trying to compose himself. Unable to face the man talking to him. He hated being seen like this. Especially by his own husband.
"There were a few different ones," Llewelyn paused and peered over his shoulder, "go back to sleep."
Llewelyn felt a hand rubbing circles on his back, a chin on his shoulder.
"Let me stay awake with you. Please." He could hear the pleading in his husband's voice. He could feel his eyes burning into his skin.
"Astraeus…" Llewelyn sighed. He hated being loved. It was one of the hardest things he let himself do. Letting himself get dissected, hoping every piece of him would be swallowed and savored as it was. Even now after so many years of being together he still could not get used to how loved he was. Astraeus had seen the barest parts of himself and still chose him time after time. He was not used to being loved but he could not stop it, so again, he let himself be dissected.
He met his husband's eyes, golden and worrisome. Just as he thought. A tinge of guilt surged through Llewelyn as he looked upon Astraeus's freckled face. He was going to push him away, again, and why? So he could suffer in silence? Pretend everything was okay even when his husband knew things weren't? He could not spend a lifetime doing that to him.
Astraeus took Llewelyn's hand and led him down the stairs into their kitchen. Their footsteps creaking throughout the house. Starlight twinkled through the windows and danced upon the floor. It wasn't the first time Llewelyn woke up in the dead of night, and it wouldn't be the last.
Llewelyn sat at the kitchen table, watching as Astraeus put on the kettle for them. His golden hair messy, his eyes still lidded with the remnants of sleep. Even in his tired state he still radiated beauty. Astraeus turned to see Llewelyn staring and flashed him a quick smile before going back to making their tea.
Setting the tea down on the table, Astraeus sat next to Llewelyn and took his hand. There was a moment of silence that hung in the air. Llewelyn knew he would not be pressured to speak but the silence killed him. His body was numb, images flashed into his mind. He had to speak or he'd be consumed.
"I… I was 5. I saw my father cleaning the blood off my clothes. He had just killed a man who had tried to kill me for accidentally destroying his crops. Then I was 8. In her temple, my first time. I saw my first sacrifice. I can still hear that man scream. I don't even know who he was or what he did. Just that he was to be made a spectacle of. Then I was 90 and… and… gods there was…so much blood…" His voice trailed off.
His mouth had turned to dust and his chest had grown heavy. Astraeus said nothing in response, not that there was anything to say anyways. He pulled Llewelyn close, kissed his head, and gently rubbed his arm. Llewelyn breathed him in, the scent of cinnamon and honey. Silence washed over them again. There was a tenderness to it this time. Llewelyn pushed away the scenes flashing in his mind. He tried to focus on Astraeus. His gentle touch. His smell. His skin. He wanted to crawl within Astraeus's chest and nestle himself into his heart so he could feel his warmth and his love for eternity. So they could never be apart. Where he'd be safe from the nightmares forever and where Lolth's curse didn't dare follow. Instead Llewelyn buried himself into his husband's neck and muttered,
"I wish you chose someone else. That you loved someone else. Someone who isn't me. Someone normal who won't wake you up in the middle of the night with his nightmares." Llewelyn felt Astraeus's hand on his head, his fingers in his hair. He felt him sigh. Then Astraeus brought his hand to his chin, gently lifting his head so they were face to face. Sorrow was plastered across his face. A deep pain was set in his eyes, they looked duller than usual. Something that often occurred when Astraeus was saddened by something.
"Why do you speak so ill about someone I choose to love? I wake up in the night for you and sit with you not because I have to but because I want to. I love many things and none you talk down on. But the thing that I love the most, you loathe. I love you, every part of you, and I wish you could accept that," Astraeus paused for a moment, stroking Llewelyn's cheek, "I wish you could see yourself the way I see you."
Tears welled in Llewelyn's eyes, his words were so soft and gentle and he could not stand it. They struck him like a knife, he was being carved up again, he could feel every inch of himself being laid bare for Astraeus. He did not deserve such tenderness but he could not continue to hurt his love like this. Burying himself into Astraeus's neck, tears streamed down his face.
"I'm sorry… I'm so sorry." Llewelyn's voice was hoarse as he cried into Astraeus.
Astraeus's arms tightened around him, he continued to rub Llewelyn's back. Whispering reassurances into his ear, kissing his head and ears. Llewelyn could feel him trying to hold back his own tears. For many years they laid their lives on the line for each other, ready to sacrifice everything for the other. It was easy, Llewelyn does it without a second thought, rushing into danger just to give his lover a chance at life. Yet something as simple as this was agonizing for him. The act of being loved. Being cared for. Sometimes he fought tooth and nail to resist it and it was hurting the very man he trusted his life with, whom he loved more deeply than anything else.
They sat like that for few moments, Llewelyn listening to Astraeus breathe. Listening to his heart thrum in his chest. Trying to settle into the comfort of his lover's touch. He was here with him. Alive. Lolth's curse had not gotten them yet. Not completely anyway. But it was tearing at them and Llewelyn couldn't let that happen.
Llewelyn picked his head up, through glossy eyes he looked at Astraeus and whispered,
"I love you. I love you so much it hurts. And I will try to love myself for you." Then he kissed Astraeus deeply and passionately, trying to savor every part of him, every part of this moment. As raw as it felt, he never wanted to forget this. He wanted to cling to this act of love and devotion, he wanted to carve it into his flesh with all the other acts of love and devotion Astraeus had showed him. He wanted to devour him and be devoured, so that they could be one, so that they could never part. To become an ourobous of unyielding devotion.
Hello everynyan, I would like to share with y’all a scene from Llewelyn’s backstory that I’m writing. For context this is after he is put in prison by the drow nobles of House Tor’viir, right before he is to be sacrificed to Lolth. This scene is pretty heavy!! My man Llewelyn is going insane and he is tortured.
If you do NOT like body horror. DO NOT READ.
This scene features, spiders, vomit, and blood. Anyways for those who want to read please enjoy and lmk what you think. I am very proud of this scene.
Also thank you to my friend Sam for helping me format this post ily :3
Llewelyn felt himself clawing at the stone walls of his cell, eager to escape this wretched hell. How many days had he been here? How many weeks? How many more times would the guards come by to torment him? How much longer would he have to endure this?
He was lucky. This evening, they gave him food. He had scoffed it down without a second thought, yet his gnawing hunger remained unsatisfied. Still scratching and scraping at the walls, his fingers protested. Their calloused surfaces split open, oozing fresh blood. Broken bits of fingernails lay scattered across the room. He had to keep his hands busy, no matter how much it hurt. Gods know what would happen if he stopped. This nightmare might finally seep into the recesses of his mind, shredding whatever sanity he had left. Always keep busy, or this place will swallow you whole. Suddenly, he ceased his incessant grating, feeling his stomach churn. Sweat began beading on his forehead, the dark room spinning around him. He cursed himself for so willingly eating the slop they had served him.
The cold stone floor was a welcome comfort to his now-burning skin. Groaning as he tucked his knees to his chest, he wished whatever new suffering he had wrought upon himself would end. The churning and sweating worsened as the seconds passed, then he felt something bubbling inside him. Something was moving within him. Breathing erratically as saliva pooled in his mouth, followed by the taste of copper. He clutched his stomach, praying to whatever gods could hear him to end his suffering. Time stopped for a second, a pause of silence in the air, a moment of calm washed over his body. As if the gods heard his prayers or as if the worst was yet to come. Then, the stillness was ripped from him. Agony spread throughout his body as his stomach began to convulse. His abdomen felt like it was tearing with every contraction. A thick black tar-like substance spilled from his mouth, along with a tiny spider. His eyes widened in horror.
Before he could even process what was happening, the retching came again, this time more forcefully. Droves of spiders crawled their way out of his throat and nose. More tar and blood spewed out of him, leaking from his mouth and nostrils, splattering all over himself, and attracting the attention of the vicious arachnids. The rest of the fluids that couldn’t escape filled his lungs, causing his chest to spasm. Limbs frozen as the insects skittered across him, biting his tender flesh, lapping up his blood. With each stab of their fangs came a deep, stinging sensation that spread throughout him. Venom coursed through his veins, causing him to lock up even more.
Throat tightening, lungs seizing, vocal cords too shredded to even scream, Llewelyn could only watch in horror as they feasted on him, as they continued to pour out of him. Breathing seemed like a distant memory. Tears welled in his eyes. The pain and terror consumed his mind, body, and soul.
Lying there, shaking, in a pool of rot, the worst of the torment dwindled. The final spiders crawled up Llewelyn’s face. His mouth was slightly agape, and his breathing shallow. Excess fluids dripped slowly from his lips. The raw wounds in his flesh had already begun to scab over. His heartbeat thrummed in his ears, the only reminder that he was alive. Not that it mattered to him anyway. Or the spiders. There wasn’t even enough energy within him to wish for death. All he could do was lie there staring at the corners of the tomb-like cell where thousands of webs had begun to form. Their white strands infused with a sickly crimson that seemed to drip down towards the floor. Almost like a cluster of eyes that stared down at the pitiful husk of a man Llewelyn had become.
Moments later, the heavy stone door slid open. Yas’tana and Thia’zyl stood in the corridor. Even in his condition, Llewelyn tried his best to avert his gaze—the fear of punishment for looking upon a drow woman deeply ingrained in him. Closing his eyes proved difficult due to the venom.
Thia’zyl hung back, barely looking into the room as Yas’tana moved to stand before him, her usual malicious grin plastered across her face.
“A shame I missed the spectacle. I wish I could’ve seen you squirm.” Yas’tana sneered. Llewelyn could feel her taking in every gory detail of the scene, soaking up all the anguish he had suffered and deriving every ounce of pleasure she could from it. She hungered for his pain. It was the very reason why she brought him to this manor 15 years ago. Nothing else would sate her appetite. She’ll feed off his suffering until he lies dead on the spider altar. Tearing open the carcass of his soul and devouring the scraps like the beast she—and all of Lolth’s priestesses were—before moving on to the next hopeless sod she finds interesting. Yes, there is not a shadow of a doubt she’ll etch his gory visage into her mind, just as she did with the ones who came before. Such is her nature. Such is her way.
The sound of Thia’zyl’s voice interrupted Yas’tana’s banquet of torment and bloodshed,
“Enough gawking. Give him the antidote, and be done with it.” The other priestess hummed in response, keeping her attention on Llewelyn,
“Such a sight should be savored, not devoured. I think I’ll indulge myself a little longer.” Thia’zyl turned to her sister, her lips tightening slightly. Llewelyn could see her blank expression falter. She composed herself and remarked cooly,
“You will have your fill of carnage and viscera once he is on the altar for the Goddess. He is needed alive. Unless you would like to incur the wrath of Matron Tal’zaiira and Lolth, I suggest you listen.” Yas’tana frowned at the apparent threat. Llewelyn could only imagine what would happen to her if he died before they could sacrifice him. The other priestesses would make short work of her. Her end would be swift yet painful, and, for a second, Llewelyn toyed with the idea of deeply inconveniencing her.
Yas’tana carelessly poured the antidote into Llewelyn’s mouth. Her bright red eyes pierced his face, radiating pure, unadulterated malice. He ignored her stare and swallowed feverously as the cool liquid hit his throat. If he could move, he was sure he would’ve snatched the bottle out of her hand.
Yas’tana moved towards Thia’zyl after emptying the bottle. She stopped, inches away from her face, voice tinged with animosity,
“You speak out of turn. Remember who is firstborn here, Thia’zylisstra’drada.”
Thia’zyl stood in the corridor, her face blank, almost unfazed, watching her sister leave the dungeon. As she closed the door to the cell, Llewelyn locked eyes with her for a moment. There was a brief flash of something within her gaze. Something he couldn’t place. Whatever it was, it was gone. The door had been sealed shut once more. Now, only darkness, silence, and spiders filled the room. Soon, the Spider Queen will capture Llewelyn’s soul, whisking him away to a new kind of hell. The thought made him shudder, but maybe it was what he deserved. Either way, his fate was sealed. Soon, he’ll be freed from the webs of House Tor’viir and released into the Lolth’s clutches.
I want to write more of my drow’s story and post it but I don’t know what scene to write ughhhhh. I literally only have two scenes written and they’re sort of out of order. And only one I like sharing (the other one is good but I need to edit it so it’s great).
Anyways if I write stuff should I upload it here??
𖤐 Embrace the Darkness, revel in Her beauty and protection.
𖤐 Indulge the darkest parts of yourself, for it is the key to leading a fulfilled life.
𖤐 Beware the depths of the Dark.
𖤐 Handle the shadows with mindfulness, lest you lose yours.
𖤐 Your cunning and wit are your most valuable assets.
More about the Structure/Hierarchy and Roles/Responsibilities of members under the cut!
Overture
Seldarine drow reject the Spider Queen. In doing so, most are wide spread and assimilate into other cultures within the Underdark or on the surface. There is no centralized city state or societal structure to adhere to. House Auvryndar functions more as a Coven than a traditional Drowic House. They are significantly smaller than a typical Noble House of Lolth.
House Auvryndar is based in Skullport, The Port of Shadows, and is made up of Shadow Sorcerers, Necromancers and a few Oathbreaker Paladins and exiles of Menzoberranzen. They are a faithless house, there is no patron god. Members of House Auvryndar 'worship' (for lack of a better word) the shadows and death/undeath as concepts, rather than deities. They revere in the beauty, comfort and protection of darkness. They prefer to remain in the Underdark and hope to one day transform Skullport into a larger hub for Seldarine drow. But for now, their operations remain subtle and "underground."
Most members of the House are blood related, but not all of them. Those who are enter House Auvryndar either by choice or marriage, must prove they are trustworthy enough to join. House Auvryndar must keep their operation discreet, as to not be uprooted by Lolthsworn drow. Exhiles of Menzobarrenzen and Oathbreaker Paladins of Lolth are typically the only outsiders allowed, because they have already proved disloyal to Lolth. While the House wishes to remain as purely a tight knit family, they must prioritize expansion over birth-right. (There are some internal conflicts about this topic. The current Matron Mother has decreed Expansion as overruling Birth-right.)
House Auvryndar specializes in dark magic, powerful rituals, and macabre trade. They are looking to expand. They encourage their members to have as many children as possible, and be on constant look out for exhiles and oathbreakers to recruit (as they don't have to go through rigorous vetting and already have common goals.) The House plans to expand as much as they can over the centuries, to eventually have enough power and ability to claim a Seldarine city state and begin pushing back against Menzoberranzen. (They dream big!)
Also I must acknowledge that there is a Menzoberranzen house Auvryndar which I was unaware of when I picked the name BUT it sort of fits because the founders of this new House Auvryndar would’ve come from Menzo after abandoning Lolth. I’ll speak more about how this branch of the family ended up in Skullport eventually.
Structure/Hierarchy
House Auvryndar is Matriarchal but men are seen as important contributors and if no female heir exists, a male heir may become in higher standing than a female, so long as he has the skill, knowledge, and accurate interpretations of their teachings.
The hierarchy is skill based, rather than gender or age based, and goes as such:
Matron Mother/Patron Father
High Sorceress of Shadows/Arch Mage of Necromancy
Alchemist Artificers/Scribes
Weaponmasters
Intermediate Practitioners
Novices
Typically, those in the highest ranks are the eldest but not always. The Matron Mother could be younger than the High Sorceress. The Alchemist Artificer could be older than the Matron Mother. These titles are reserved for the highest skilled individuals. However, high skill levels are typically held by the eldest members that are still physically able to practice. There are some members of House Auvryndar that used to hold high ranked titles but have retired from practice, but are still involved in gatherings, often taking on a more supportive/mentor role for intermediate practitioners and novices.
Because House Auvryndar is significantly smaller than a typical Drowic House, one person can hold multiple titles. Especially at the upper levels of the hierarchy. For example: Olorna is the High Sorceress and an Alchemist Artificer of House Auvryndar. The Matron Mother could also be the Arch Mage of Necromancy. Arch Mage could also be the Scribe. Ideally, those roles would be filled by different people but it is not always possible.
Roles & Responsibilities
Matron Mother and Patron Father
The Matron Mother and/or Patron Father is the head of the House. They are ultimate decision maker, ritual planner, organizational lead, teaching crafter, and quest appointer. Teachings are written and interpreted by the Matron/Patron. If there is a Matron and a Patron they will share responsibilities of the role, with final say falling to the Matron. Typically, there is only one person filling this role.
High Sorceress and Arch Mage
High Sorceress/Sorcerer of Shadows — this role is typically filled by the eldest or highest skilled daughter/son of the family.
Arch Mage of Necromancy — Some members of the family are not innately born with magic and learn magic through a Wizarding path as opposed to the typical path of intuition.
Both roles share the same responsibilities which inlcude:
Leading of rituals/ceremonies determined by the Matron/Patron
Magical Research
Teaching and managing the intermediates and novices
Overseers of the Treasury
Vetting new recruits.
Alchemist Artificer
This role is vital for supplying the House with income from powerful potions, poisons, elixirs, draughts, etc. for sale. And also for use during rituals/ceremonies, personal use, and defense.
Scribe
The scribe is typically a skilled practitioner who writes spell scrolls, grimoires, house histories, ritual books, and philosophies of the House as dictated by the Matron/Patron.
Weaponmasters
This is typically where Oathbreaker Paladins fall in the hierarchy of the House after they have completed the vetting process in which their level and skillset are carefully examined. Some of the Exiles will also fall into this category if they are of a melee or fighting class (like rogues, rangers, fighters, barbarians, etc.) and will be vetted in a similar, but more vigorous, way as the Oathbreakers. This group is intended to defend and protect the House. They are typically sent to keep tabs on Lolthsworn raids, exterminate any that get too close, and alert the House of any potential threats.
Intermediate Practitioners
Typically the second, and below, daughters and sons. They participate in rituals under the supervision of the High Sorceress and Arch Mage. They follow the High Sorceress and Arch Mage in their duties, helping wherever necessary, and participate in research and outreach. The highest skilled intermediate practitioners will frequently be sent out to support the Weaponmasters.
Novices
Youngest/Newest members with a great deal to learn. Typically the Novices are in a mentor/mentee relationship with the retirees of the House. They help to gather necessities for rituals/ceremonies, and observe research. Their focus is their craft. Many are assigned a length of time (days, weeks, sometimes months) to dedicate to a particular part of their craft. Mastery of basic skills and spells are their priority.
I plan to dive deeper to the agenda and history of House Auvryndar as well as the implications of being based in Skullport in separate posts. I’d also love to talk about their practices, internal conflicts, and general House Happenings but this is enough for now.
If you read the whole thing: Hi! I love you! Thanks for reading! 🖤
