#sunshinedoomguide

[artemis-entreri]

larathia replied to your post “Boundless questions: Is Zak going to be the embarrassing racist...”

Honestly, I'm now more curious about the hint abt Lolth not having a say in Zak's resurrection - I knew she didn't have Zak's soul, but it seemed at the end of Boundless that Yvonnel had sent the prayer - so if not Lolth answering then who?

[[ The answer should be simple: Eilistraee, or maybe even Vhaeraun. If Bob actually cared about the rest of the Forgotten Realms and the work that a bunch of other creatives have put into it, there wouldn’t be the need for any of what’s quite honestly a load of contrived bullshit. 

However, Bob’s got a vendetta against Eilistraee because the existence of her and her followers threatened Drizzt’s only good drow special snowflake status. As such, Bob never acknowledges Eilistraee’s existence in his books, except during the Transitions where he throws shade her way by having Drizzt declare that her followers utterly failed. It’s really a shame, because having other goodly-aligned drow would make Drizzt a better and more nuanced character rather than the opposite, since there are bound to be fundamental differences between different people even if they happen to believe in a general similar thing, and exploring subtle differences is both more realistic and interesting than pretending they don’t exist. 

As it is, I suspect I know the answer of where Zak’s soul was/who answered, or rather, what answered, but it’s all speculation at this point. Nothing is confirmed in Boundless. Based on history and pattern of behavior, I doubt that Bob will finally acknowledge Lolth’s twins, but if he did, I’d be ecstatic and feel less dumb for holding out hope that he’ll improve despite consistent evidence otherwise. You know what Einstein said about the definition of insanity? That’s kinda how I feel like I am with still holding out hope for Bob. :P ]]

sunshinedoomguide replied to your post “Boundless questions: Is Zak going to be the embarrassing racist...”

And now I'm curious as to if the characterization of Yvonnel continues to ping-pong...

[[ I’ll answer this without a cut because I don’t think it’s much of a spoiler to do so. Things are consistent with Yvonnel and her characterization. :\ ]]

[ofdaringhearts]

👌👌👌 !! Eira's got all fire around a soft and gooey core, and Kendrial is such a drow, conflict and Extra Aesthetics!

Send “👌👌👌” if you think I’ve done a good job with my OC. Bonus point if you explain what you like the most. 

[ofdaringhearts]

Eira is an unrepentant shirt-thief, especially when they're just a liiiiiiittle too big.

Cute headcanon meme!

And even if you catch her, she’ll deny it. While wearing the shirt. And smiling. ( She’s got a whole, secret collection – and if they happen to smell like their respective owner? More the better. )

[xdepthsofwinterx]

[Meta-meme: Magic, and History. {these ARE hard to come up with, I know!}]

I view and write Dhana's magic as if it were a living thing. Given her class, I see it being intrinsically linked to her emotions and mental state. I know the Weave requires Mystra's blessing to access, but active devotion to a god doesn't sit well with Dhana's character. That being said, she does respect and quietly ask for good luck and fortune on her travels from Tymora (given her Calimshan roots). My headcanon has developed with some sorcerers having some kind of mutation that allows them to tap into magic so fluidly. This perhaps contradicts D&D mechanics but I'm can toy with ideas, and it's subtle enough not to effect most RPs.

Regardless of this, as I said, I see sorcery being closely linked with emotional health. As a result Dhana struggled to control her magic growing up. She lacked a mentor and her mother was reluctant to get her involved given her father's background. Hence why her mother sent Dhana with Drogan. Although highly trained, there are moments when she's under immense stress or anxiety were her magic will react.

History is an obsessive love for Dhana. The way it unfolds, sculpts and informs, changes and the patterns that emerge fascinate her. An obvious example of this was the Undrentide and the Netherese. If time had permitted it she would have stayed on that ship and read and tinker to her hearts content. Alas, a bag of two of pilfered books would have to do. The treatment of magic within this time also captured Dhana's imagination and partly inspired her to persue enchanting and rune craft.

Growing up she was encouraged to read a whole range of literature. Her mother couldn't exactly keep her dealings with the Harpers a secret under such sharp, curious eyes. Therefore Dhana extended her learning beyond her age, unchallenged in a way. As mentioned this led to her misshapen magical development, which Drogan had to quickly correct early in her education. I headcanoned besides her practical abilities, that Dhana and Xanos both had to persue and develop thesis on areas of historical and arcane interest. Netheril was a given, and after meeting Dorna, Dwarvish manufacturing and infrastructure became another. She wrote a comparative piece between Gold and Shield dwarves and their ecological differences. With footnotes courtesy of Dorna...lets just say Master Drogan was...less than impressed. The Crown Wars was another favourite, with particular interest in the splitting of drow from surface elves.

[ofdaringhearts]

♡!! {have fun picking one biiiiiie}

send me a ‘♡’ and I will write a drabble based on one of our threads.

Life had this curious way of coming full circle, now and again.

This was one of those moments. It’s been a day, but time was unkind — it felt like two, like three, like a week. Like she had never left these godforsaken streets for some semblance of normalcy. The comfort of recent memory feels suddenly off, a fever dream she might have conjured instead, because it feels far too unrealistic right now. How could she have found someone who loved her? How could she not have ever said that, when in hindsight, it could be nothing but love?

It didn’t matter. Her legs swing off the edge of the fire escape, chin on the metal bar under her hands. It was over. She can still see that look in his eyes — a hunger, but worse, lack of recognition — and still taste the blood from the cut in her tongue, swollen and aching just like her bruised lip. Would he have killed her if she stayed? Had insisted?

( Dont ask questions if you won’t like the answer. )

She could give up. She could let him go, but fuck, something eats away at her for that. All of this hardship — what had it been for, if she would roll over and walk away now? Did they survive Malice, constant attackers, and prodigal sons just so fate could tear ———

Prodigal sons. His son. Drizzt.

She’s on her feet without conscious effort. Sure, things between them were... complicated, but there was a good heart beneath that steel. She might not have answers, but maybe Drizzt did, and who better to ask than him? He’s known Zak longer — and arguably better, though in vastly different ways — than her, anyway. Pair that with the fact he had a hunter’s knowledge, and it made him the obvious choice. Her only choice.

So she picks her way through the dusk lit side streets. It may have been better to use the door, but that gave a chance to turn her away. She’s sitting on his kitchen counter instead, eyes bright, legs swinging when he walks in. She thinks, for a second, that he might shoot her. Truth be told, he likely thinks the same thing.

“What do you want?”

“We need to talk.” She offers a smile. Tosses an apple she catches midair. “Have a seat.”

[ofdaringhearts]

@sunshinedoomguide // continued.

“Isn’t it, though?” As if trying to make a point, her hands are quick to land on him in all their lightfingered grace. She smiles, though even that feels washed out, like flickering bulb that just won’t light up. God, but she feels drained; it’s annoying. There’s so many better things to be doing than wasting away her days in this bed, subject to Zak’s scrutiny.

It’s significantly better with him in it, she thinks.

He stays atop the covers, sitting up, like he knows it’s a danger to snuggle down with her. And for all the temptation, she doesn’t give in, though it’s her lack of energy to credit for making her behave. Still, she doesn’t need more than this. It’s his warmth she wants to feel on her skin, his steady heartbeat under her cheek. All the little reminders that he’s still here, when so recently, she wasn’t sure he would be.

Eira closes her eyes. There’s the strangest heat at the backs of her eyes, a prickling that brings a promise of tears. Not right now. Not here. Not in front of him. She digs up the mantras from this last week, a familiar song set on repeat, lyrics she knows by rote memory. Don’t, don’t, don’t —

( She wears a dress of crushed velvet today, the color of deep berries and Cabernet. A rare vintage. She grinds her teeth. Her jaw is aching from the words she’s held in, from biting down things that could invoke their ire. That would hurt him. It’s hopeless: she wants so badly to give in, but the sigh at her back has her straightening. Pushing the swell of pity away. Not yet. Not now. Her fingers reach covertly for him, and his are so cold that she almost breaks. Not in front of him. They hold tight. And behind closed eyes, she prays. )

Her fingers twitch with the memory. She shifts against him, face pressed to his shirt, desperately trying to shake it away. The thoughts have been stifled too long for it, though; they beg for release, and she can’t find a way. So she feigns nonchalance, makes herself say, “I thought I’d lost you for a while there.”

[ofdaringhearts]

✉

✉ - push my muse back down when they try to get out of bed (perhaps involving illness, injury, or sleep deprivation) // @sunshinedoomguide

“But I’m fiiiiiiiine.”

Nevertheless, she let his ( rather insistent ) hand push her back down to the sheets. It had been a full day of rest already: in that time, Zak had seemed to be channeling a mother hen, tsking and fretting and checking on her. Part of it was nice, actually. No one had ever cared for her like this before, and she’s certainly never been quite so spoiled.

The other part of her just felt guilty. She’d brought this suffering down on herself.

It didn’t really matter, though. Her spirit was strong, but her body wasn’t — if she’d wanted to prove him wrong about needing sleep, she had failed that miserably. From the moment he carried her back through their door, Eira had been nothing short of useless. Whatever had been holding her up until then — and she suspected it was little more than stubbornness and adrenaline — it left in a swift exhale, like a breath, and she had done nothing but go straight to sleep.

Rest, he had said. Just close your eyes. So she had, once her fingers felt for his hand, drifting away as they held his own tight.

Now she was finally awake, though still tired; if he had slept too, she couldn’t see it, not with how strain still tightened his smile. Grateful as she was, she felt worse that his energy still went to her, still focused on the tasks to speed her healing. She sighed. There was likely a way to change his mind, but she just didn’t have the will to fight it.

“I’m tired of sleeping here on my own.” For the first time in days, there’s a light in her eyes. “If you won’t let me up, you could at least join me.”

[ofdaringhearts]

[Eyes], [Mouth], [Chest]!

PHYSICAL FEATURE MEME. // for Eira. // @sunshinedoomguide

EYES. // Light blue, but saturated in color. The kind of blue you see on bright, summer days. Long lashes, but straight, in a shade lighter than her hair; they have a faint golden glow when caught in the sun. Always, always alert. Perceptive in a subtle way that tries to pass for just curiosity. Big, almond shaped, slightly angled upwards at the corners. Almost always dancing, like there’s a secret you don’t know about. ( There probably is. )

MOUTH. // Very expressive, but even in rest, they hold the slightest upward curve. Smiles come easy, and grins that show teeth come easier. Naturally a little red, and there’s never anything but chapstick on them. Full, but not too much so, just enough for a well defined cupid’s bow and pleasantly plump lower lip, which is often caught between teeth in effort to hold back inappropriate smiles.

CHEST. // Small and shapely, enough there to be pert, but not enough that a bra is really needed. Pink nipples, which look pinker because of the pale shade of her skin, but they compliment each other. A girlish figure, but despite the delicate musculature, it’s deceptively strong. Slim, but toned abs, though they don’t always show, and there’s a random scattering of assorted scars over the whole thing.