#thetrishtalgem asks

[writerofscribbles]

I know you don't play it but what are your thoughts on D&D lore that says elves can't grow beards. Like, they're physically incapable of it not like some weird elven law

You appeal to my analytical side and despite not playing D&D, I will try to analyze this from what I know of D&D and my personal opinions when it comes to Elves in general. 

Firstly, body hair is used for keeping the body warm in cold climates, so my first thought is that perhaps Elves live in very warm climates and therefore don’t need body hair, and facial hair is included in this. So, Elves living in a warm climate makes this make sense, I doubt anyone wants to have a full beard when it is quite hot and sunny and dry. But, as far as I know, most tropes with Elves revolve around them being inclined more towards forest environments, which can still be hot, but it isn’t something I see very often. I think the creation of Elves that thrive in desert environments would be fascinating. Or even Mad Max type Elves. 

Another “biological” reason is that perhaps Elves have fewer androgens, which are the hormones that stimulate vellus hair to darken and coarsen. In humans, both men and women have them, but males have higher levels of it, hence men’s ability to grow beards (typically). So, perhaps Elves have much lower concentrations of this and thus, cannot grow beards. Or, since Elves take such a long time to mature and reach their full age, they don’t grow beards for the majority of their lives and thus don’t want it when they can? Just spitballing. 

Any of those can be perfectly acceptable answers, but I think diving into the actual world of Elves (both from the outside, like creators looking at the fantasy world, and also how Elves are portrayed in the media) is more interesting. 

After a quick google, D&D was published in 1974. This is important because I can’t imagine the creators were not influenced by J.R.R. Tolkien’s Elves in Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit, and definitely The Silmarillion. In the books, they are described as "wondrous fair." Legolas is "fair of face beyond the measure of men." The beauty of both Galadriel and of Arwen is mentioned repeatedly, and there are numerous other mentions of Elvish beauty throughout Tolkien's works. Elves as a group are often called "Fair Folk." And fair probably is a play on words and its several meanings when it comes to the Elves. Fair as in just, rule-following, etc. But, it also means light complected and such, which brings up the point that the most powerful and mighty and pious creatures in Tolkien’s world are inharmonious with white and the savage orcs are the “dark and ugly” creatures in this world, but that’s an entirely different conversation. (especially with the comparison between hate groups and D&D, but I don’t have enough info to really go into that). Anyway, perhaps since most of the time, Elves have “fair” hair, the facial hair they do grow is shaved off because it is just peach-fuzz, or is extremely fair anyway, so there is no real point to keeping it. 

Anyway, Elves are highly moral and “fair” creatures, something that humanity is known for lacking at the best of times. Humans are much more complicated, so are the Elves not growing beards another way to show that humans and Elves are very different species? A little thin, but could be a factor. Perhaps the reason is simply that the demographic for D&D is more aimed at younger boys. Elves are powerful creatures, full of wisdom and strength. They live forever and are generally pretty Mary-Sue/Gary-Stu if you ask me. And their description of being beardless (unable to grow a beard) and pale and lean would appeal to a scrawny, prepubescent teen, yes? 

So is it biological? Perhaps. 

Is it to appeal to Tolkien fans? More than likely. 

Is it to make young teenage boys who aren’t developed into the traditional “masculine” archetype we tend to force through media feel better and powerful? Sure. 

Could it also be construed to be something to do with gender norms and how Elves should probably be gender fluid or agender in this day and age? Could it have been one of the creators going “hey, this would be an interesting tidbit, wouldn’t it?” Could it have more sinister undertones involving racism? All of these are probably woven into every aspect of D&D, well fantasy, because it is, after all, the reflection of our world. 

But what do you think? 

On a personal note, I think it is a strange detail to give to a race without giving a reason. It seems silly to me.

Thanks, as always for the question Patricia <3 

[writerofscribbles]

Can you do a lil blurb for sensory prompt 25 with Ronan pleeeeeease? 🥰🥰🥰

oooh girl, you ready for a little bit angst? (okay it became more than a blurb but oh well)

25.  calloused palm

fingers, unusually soft brushed against his shoulder. “what is this from?” alara asked, her dark lashes fluttering as she gazed at him, eyes dark and reflective, pools of moonlight gathering in her irises. moments ago they had been making love for the first time, sweat still cooled in the hollows of his throat, at his temples. she curled the white linen around her, gazing at his body, hungry and wanting. 

“sword, I believe. struck right in the meat luckily,” he said, watching her fingers trail to the back of his neck, her thumb brushing against the top of his spine before finding the branded bondmark that connected him with his brothers-in-arms. 

she flattened her palm against the raised scar, her skin warm and slightly damp. she was smooth, silken, almost too much on his overheated and sensitive skin. he shuddered. it was so different than his male lover’s hand, which was roughened with callouses. tough from a life of fighting. similar to his own. 

alara had never fought with swords, rather with tongues and desire. 

“is it sensitive?” she murmured, her perfect hand running around the outside of it. 

“no. nerves are burned away.” 

“too bad,” she murmured. her fingers found the raised scars from the whip and ronan stiffened. 

“don’t,” he breathed and her hand jerked back. the soft velvet of her skin was gone, leaving only a lingering kiss of cool air. 

“can I hold you?” she whispered, no, breathed. 

when he looked at her, she was not looking at him as a monster covered in scars, but rather a boy to be soothed. 

slowly ronan shook his head and slid out of bed, the covers too silky against his thighs. he didn’t look back, he couldn’t see the hurt on her face as he left her in the marriage bed. 

The Wrath King could not be weak.

(especially not for the soft palms of his wife).

[writerofscribbles]

💕

thanks for the q patreeesha <333333

💕: what has your favorite scene been?

I’ve jumped around a lot in writing The Wrath King. One of my favorite scenes to write has been exploring the relationship between the Wrath King himself Ronan and the Scarlet Father discussing Ronan’s struggle with his duties and history. It transitions into a sexy scene and just the dynamics have been so fun to explore within the castle. 

Here is a snippet [it is safe for work because Tumblr rules…]

Ronan opened his eyes, he no longer needed to focus on remembering. It flooded forward, a torrent so hot and heavy it knocked him breathless. “I was naked,” he murmured, hand coming to rest on his chest. Flashes of hot desire, passion, lips lingering on secret places. Blood pulsed, dripping down his fingers, running in rivulets down his chest, down his back, from his temples. Salty and hot and metallic, mingling with the wet grass and the coil of lavender incense and smoke. “I was free of everything. Duty, time, magic,” Ronan looked at the tiny flame on a small white candle. “I had nothing but myself,” he whispered.

The dream continued to unwind, the ribbons coming loose. “I had no scars, none of my bloodmarks,” Ronan looked at the inside of his arms, covered in thick scars. Always the brand scar between his shoulder blades pulsed with power, with magic, it gave him strength in the unity of him with his brothers. “What does it mean, Father?” Ronan asked, hating how soft and cracked his voice sounded. Fragile, as if the lightest breeze would break him in half.

He finally met the Scarlet Father’s dark eyes. The candlelight flickered strangely over his dark skin, so deep and shadowy. The Scarlet Father was quiet, face smooth and lacked any emotion. He looked at his tapestries, one with a wolf being strangled by a snake, a snake eating his own tail. “It means that you will be tested, my child,” The Scarlet Father swept forward, placing a gentle palm against Ronan’s face, the other gripping his wrist to lead him into a chair. “It means that you must be strong and you must never forget your duty as King of Izaro.”

[writerofscribbles]

You give off Red and Blue! Which makes sense, because I've always associated you with purple. That's why it's one of my favorite colors.

beetch, why you gotta make me cry? I love you so much

{ what color do i give off? }

[writerofscribbles]

Fluff Prompt 80 you already know for who ;)

80. “Don’t leave me like that again, you scared me.” (this turned angsty rather than fluffy)

Daire looked away from their leader and his Commander, the taste of ash in his mouth. Jealousy.

(ask me for a fluff prompt!)

trigger warning ; descriptions of body violence, torture, and blood. nothing too graphic or disturbing and it is not an actual torture scene. 

Golden light flickered across the edges of the room, dappling the expanse of olive-toned skin and revealing the blue-black bruises that blossomed along toned shoulders, on each knob of vertebrae, down the backs of strong biceps, marks in distinct finger shapes. A white sheet was covering his waist, not showing the rest of the horrible handiwork  Not even the pretty face of their leader had been left alone. Nose crooked and swollen, blackness shadowing the corners of his eyes and blooming purple up to his eyebrows, across the translucent lids and giving his eyes a sunken, dead look. Cuts stitched together were puffed and inflamed, bright red despite the fragrant herbal paste applied to them by a meticulous, but loving hand. Dark waves, jet-black and gleaming in the candlelight, were twisted away from the face, freshly washed of dirt and blood, pulled back off his face. 

Daire’s jaw clenched. It was easy to feel rage at the “King’s” soldiers who had done this. It was easy to hate the tyranny that had held Izaro under for the better part of a century. It was easy to smash his fist against a wall, the grooves of his bracer cutting into his knuckles, blood pooling in the fingertips of his gloves. What was hard was knowing that his hope was vulnerable. That he could’ve died. That the man he had hope to know would be dead before he got the chance.

In three steps he was across the dirt floor, his shoulders casting wicked shadows across Ronan’s sleeping form. Daire watched carefully as his chest rose and fell rhythmically, even, clear. Slowly, as not to wake him, Daire placed his Red Reaper mask on the tiny table next to the cot. The black slits for his eyes stared back at him, abysses that were unnerving, even to him, a Reaper since he was seventeen. He knelt, unsure of what else to do. He was supposed to only care about Ronan as The Wrath King. The man who would defeat the horror that was King Nero, who would usher Izaro into peace, and mend the broken halves of the kingdom. 

The bond mark on his back was not Ronan’s. It was for the Reapers, the highest class of Crimson Legion soldiers and the most deadly. They were meant to be like machinery. Not human. Genderless, neutral, unknown, a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield. But Daire was here. His fingers reached out, careful not to touch any of Ronan’s abused skin, and his fingertips skimmed across his right brow. Lashes fluttered, his mouth was slightly parted, hot puffs of breath ghosting over his gloved hand. He couldn’t feel it, not really, but a shiver ran through him regardless. 

Ronan was so vulnerable.

He had to be protected. 

Daire pulled his hand back, about to rise from the uncomfortable position on the floor next to the low cot when Ronan let out a groan and tried to roll over. His arm tried to push himself up and over, but failed and he slumped back into the pillow, face-first. The pain must’ve woken him because his eyes cracked open, swollen, and bloodshot, they took a moment to focus on Daire. He knew he should’ve left. Should’ve stood quickly and departed, but he sat frozen on the floor as their leader woke from his pained slumber. 

“Soldier?” Ronan rasped. “What happened? Where am I?” His voice cracked and broke, a shuddering cough keeping him from continuing to ask questions. His ribs squeezed, bruises rippling as he hacked. The doctor had said he had multiple broken ribs and most had been thoroughly cracked. They’d done the best they could with the magic they knew and they sacrificed as much energy as they could, more than they could, all for their last hope. 

“Lamarq, sir. You were captured by enemy soldiers. My men and I found you,” Daire said. It was a partial lie. They had helped pull him out of the torture den, but it had been Daire that had found the location. A bit of illegal scrying and working with a man who was known for having impossible prices. Daire would pay it, no matter what. 

Ronan gasped for breath, but he winced as his jaw clicked. It had been reset several days prior, having been almost completely broken. 

“What happened to my body?” Ronan murmured, looking at his arm. Over the older crisscross of blood magic scars were thinner lines. Lines that would fade over time, but had been used by their healers to piece him back together after the horrendous torture he had endured. 

Daire was about to answer when he heard the tent’s flaps swish. He jerked, looking back to see one of the bondmates in Ronan’s squad. Cassian Azahaneh. Tall, regal, the best swordfighter in the Legion. Dark brown skin, a shaved head, and haunting gray eyes, a wolfishness to him whenever he charged into battle. The right-hand man to Ronan. For the three weeks that Ronan had been captured, Azahaneh had made sure that the Legion hadn’t faltered, hadn’t fallen, hadn’t crumbled. 

Daire was grateful, but now, all he felt was deep-rooted terror. 

“Ro, I hea-.” Azahaneh stopped dead in his tracks as he saw Daire sitting on the floor. “Who are you?” He demanded. 

Daire scrambled to his feet. “Sorry, Legionnaire. I wanted to see if he was recovering well.” A lame excuse, but a truthful one. 

Azahaneh looked skeptical and his mouth opened to reprimand him when Ronan’s croaking voice cut in. “He saved me. I remember your face.” 

Daire grabbed his Red Reaper mask off of the table, hurrying to leave when Azahaneh grabbed him by the upper arm. “Is that true, Reaper?” 

He swallowed and nodded. Both of them glanced at Ronan. 

“What is your name?”

“Crimson, sir,” Daire said, looking back at Azahaneh. Up close he could see the splash of freckles across his cheeks, felt his warmth through his thin fatigues. He had a scar on the corner of his right eye, virtually imperceptible to anyone who wasn’t inches from his face. 

Azahaneh’s brow furrowed, taking in the information slowly. Daire was a bastard. No family and no obligation beside the Legion. 

“First name?” 

Daire blinked and Azahaneh’s fingers tightened on his arm. They both knew that the Reapers had no first names. “Daire,” he said, his throat dry and scratchy. “Thank you, Daire,” Azahaneh said. His voice was thick, the gleam of unshed tears in those eerie gray eyes before he blinked and the moment fractured. They became soldiers again. Azahaneh let go of his arm and fell to the floor next to Ronan. With fingers usually made for violence and bloodshed now gentle and tender, he touched Ronan’s temple and stroked across his hair. 

“Don’t leave me like that again, you scared me.”

Daire looked away from their leader and his Commander, the taste of ash in his mouth. Jealousy.

[writerofscribbles]

💐🌷🌱🌳💮🥀🌻 *chanting* Ronan Ronan Ronan Ronan

I have been spoiled. Thank you so much as always <3 

get ready for long ass responses my friends, buckle up. 

💐 What flowers would be used in a flower crown for your oc? Why those choices?

red spider lilies because aesthetic, purple hyacinth to represent the sorrow and regret of those he has killed, withered daisies to represent his loss of innocence, marigolds to represent grief and cruelty, poppies to represent death and relief in a more wholesome way as he tries to make amends with his past, black roses for aesthetic. 

🌷 Does your oc have any collections? What of? Any reason why?

The heads of his enemies just kidding, that is what the Scarlet Father would have the public believe about our Wrath King. Ronan has only recently come upon collecting things. As a soldier, he leaves all worldly possessions behind so that he is able to only serve. But now, as King, his ideas about his identity have shifted. Before he would say he collects weapons and scars because that is what a soldier is beloved for. But now he has taken to folded paper animals. 

The story of why is one that is only known by Ronan, but I’ll tell it now. About a month before the capital fell and the Tyrant King fled, the Crimson Legion was on the outskirts of the city laying siege. By this point, Ronan was already being hailed as the Wrath King because of how he burned all of the supporters of the Tyrant King in the east simply because they would not comply. (Whether this is true or not is up for debate) but he was quite feared by the town’s people. They say he was Death Reborn, that he rode a glossy black stead and had armor the color of blood. The stuff of myth and legend. Truth is, he was just the best Commander they had and he looked like every other soldier. So perhaps that would explain what happened one day during the siege. 

The closest town to the capital was housing and feeding the soldiers and Ronan was in the town, exhausted like the rest of them, when he grabbed a little girl from the street to protect her from being run over by a runaway grain cart. The mother, frantic and unsure of how to repay the soldier for his kindness, gave him the only thing she had to hand, a beautifully folded gold leaf swan. It was the prettiest thing anyone had ever given to him. Maybe she gave it to him out of fear, out of generosity, out of gratitude. Ronan isn’t really sure. But he treasured the little gold swan, kept it with him through every battle after that, and certainly took of the Tyrant King’s head with it tucked against his breastbone.

So, that’s why he collects little folded animals. He still has the gold one, tucked in a velvet box on his desk in his chambers. It’s crumpled, lost some of its luster, and has a ruddy stain on the wing, but he refuses to get rid of it.  

🌱 What are some of your oc’s dreams? Goals?

Ronan has only one dream. This has been a part of his character since I first thought him up. He wants nothing more than to be free of the shackles of blood magic and the society that raised him. He doesn’t want to be bound to his brothers, (which he has complex feelings about), he doesn’t want to be in the Crimson Legion or even King. He dreams of being able to just be a normal person, to shed the suffering and horror he has done and witnessed. 

But that is not a realistic dream. He has duties, so his goal is to run Izaro peacefully and usher in a golden age of learning, justice, beauty, and art. Now that he’s “living the high life”, he wants others to experience it too. He wants their world to be wealthy and live comfortably. He doesn’t want war, poverty, violence, hunger. His other goal is to have as many children as he possibly can. He wants a big family and for his children to love and trust him. He is soft that way. 

🌳 What are some things your oc is proud of?

Depends on who is asking. His reputation says that he should be proud of blood and broken bones. of violence and destruction. But in reality, he is proud of the work he and his brothers did to rebuild Izaro. He is proud to see his symbol all over the capital that shows that even though some political unrest rumbles, the people are with him. 

💮 What are your oc’s best skills?

Killing. With a sword, dagger, spinning stars, or his bare hands, his best skill is without a doubt his ability to end life. He’s been a soldier for 18 years and he wouldn’t have made it this far without that being his best skill. 

🥀 Have your oc’s dreams ever been crushed, or their heart broken? When and how?

Oh, Ronan has had his heart broken several times. His dream of one day being free of the burdens he took on when he was ten years old were crushed when the Legion nominated him as their King and champion. He has been in love with the idea of love for so long that he doesn’t think he’ll ever find it. A boy in the Legion broke his heart when Ronan confessed his growing feelings and the boy laughed at him. He was thirteen. Ro fell in love again with an aristocrat’s daughter who never truly would be with him because of her status. He was heartbroken when he found his mother had died of the fever. He was crushed the first time he ever took a life. 

He has gone through more than he will ever let on and good lord the man needs a hug. 

🌻 What little things make your oc happy? Would they admit that they make them happy?

Ronan is touch-starved, so any bit of physical affection makes him absolutely melt. He has led a life of violence, so he worries that his hands will break things rather than mend. He has dimples at the base of his spine that he shudders whenever someone lightly brushes a fingertip over them. The back of his neck is sensitive so anytime a lover caresses the back of his head, he goes boneless. He’d never admit that he likes when people touch him gently, but when he feels safe in the physical comfort of another person, he is the happiest. 

other things that make him happy is seeing his Legion-brothers smile. his folded paper animals. the warm sunshine in the mid-late afternoon. kohl eyeliner meticulously placed onto his eyes for protection from the sun, but he likes the way it makes him look fierce and sexy. he likes when people trust him enough to do little things, like hum or joke or make offhanded comments. anytime someone doesn’t automatically fear him, he feels a burst of pure serotonin. 

But he’d never tell anyone. he has a reputation to keep up, y’know. 

[writerofscribbles]

5, 9, and 13 for Ronan. 😘

how did I know it would be for Ro? ;D 

5. Guilty pleasures? CHOCOLATE. Ronan would kill a man for chocolate. And as someone who keeps himself in peak physical condition, he doesn’t often have chocolate. Pair that with having been quite a poor kid who was lucky to get a scrap of burnt bread as dinner, he could possibly gorge himself to death on chocolate. Luckily he has people who keep from consuming all of the chocolate in Izaro. His other guilty pleasures are indulging in a few particular fantasies, but that wasn’t the question ;)

9. Humiliating memories? His most humiliating memory happened when he was eight years old and was dragged into the street by the Marshal of their town and whipped bloody. All for stealing a bit of bread and supposedly touching a woman inappropriately (which he hadn’t). No one did anything and he still bears the faint lines of jagged, criss-cross scars on his back from the steel points. To most it is horrible and sad and tragic, but to Ronan it is a touchy subject and why he hates public punishments as displays of power. He still hates whips, never wanting another one to touch him or anyone he loves. He is humiliated by it, still, after twenty years, because he believes he should’ve been able to defend himself. He was just a kid, but it is hard to unlearn such ingrained habits of self-hatred. 

13. What gets them flustered? Anyone who makes a flirtatious advance. Ronan is not aware of his own sexual prowess and beauty. He’s been propositioned by prostitutes and such before as a regular soldier in the Crimson Legion and that is the fastest way to make him bright red and start sputtering. However, that does not mean that Ronan isn’t sexually active, it just means it isn’t very open about it. He gets self-conscious about it when he’s with others. Also any mention of his own weakness gets him defensive and flustered, mostly because he has spent so much time being strong that he isn’t used to being weak and vulnerable.

as usual I adore talking about Ro so I will answer all questions about my poor baby <3 

[writerofscribbles]

📖, ⌨️, 📓, 🖋️

thanks as always for the q’s patreessha<33 i love you<333

📖 Tell us about your NaNo project(s)! (Title, log-line, WIP page, etc.)

TITLE: The Wrath King

LOGLINE: Despite the perceived end of a brutal war, Izaro is still being plagued by black magic, undead sorcerers, plagues, and political conflict.

you can find a full look at the WIP here!

⌨️ What kinds of inspo have you collected so far for your NaNo WIP?

This WIP is very dark. It has a lot of religious undertones. It is a contrast between lush luxury in the city and in the aristocracy contrasted with the wild, harsh nature of the rural areas. Two POV characters stay in the main city and two characters venture into the wild darkness of the borders beyond, so it’s very much a contrast in aesthetics.

I’m intending it to be very gritty, dark, but not without humor and some light aspects of it. I have an entire Pinterest board dedicated to its aesthetic here. But here is a few pictures (not my own!) to give a feel for the WIP.

📓 Have you made a writing playlist for your NaNo WIP?

Absolutely. I’ll make it public on Spotify one of this days, but it’s not finalized so I’ll just share some of my favorite inspirational songs.

Seven Devils by Florence and the Machine

Doom Days by Bastille

Run Boy Run by Woodkid

The Davy Jones Lullaby from Pirates of the Caribbean

Church by Fall Out Boy

🖊️ Tell us about a scene you’re looking forward to writing during NaNo!

I’m guess what I’m really looking forward to is a specific wedding scene because while it isn’t full on Red Wedding, there is some gore and death and a very tense fight scene I’ve been envisioning for a while now. I’m excited to introduce the main antagonist of this book, since I’m planning on making him more of an anti-hero and depending on the perspective you’re in, he’s the Hero to some. I’m excited to describe the magic and get deep into the thick of the darkness of this world. I’m just excited to be creating such a complex, dark, heavy book. I’ve been in the mood and it feels close to being ready for me to weave together. It’s been elusive for a while, so I’m looking forward to seeing where it takes me.