Hey there, my name is Ash (it/its)! I’m in my mid twenties and I’m very bad with talking to people, I promise I’m only a little weird because I get very nervous interacting (I enjoy talking and making friends–I can’t help the nervous thing, unfortunately).
This blog is a muti-para, selective, indie roleplay blog for my Drow Ranger, Rinnill Ilystryph.
Info/Verses - Rinnill Ilystryph, Drow Ranger
[Main/Default] DND Verse: || X ||
[AU] Vhaeraunite Verse: || X ||
[AU] BG3 Verse: || X ||
[AU] Drider Verse: || X ||
For my rules, I’d say the obvious stuff:
Muse does not equal Mun.
Do whatever you want to my muse, but please be respectful to the mun.
No Minors, 18+ blog with NSFW content. Anyone under 18 will be blocked if they interact with this blog.
If you want to ship with my muses, please send me a message so we can discuss.
Remember to have fun and don’t be afraid to chat with me out of character!!! :)
OC Friendly
There will be sensitive subjects mentioned on this blog. All will be tagged should they come up in roleplay. The tag specifically will be Tw: [Trigger] or for example, Tw: PTSD.
CARING FOR STUBBORN MUSES. for when the person you’re trying to care for insists they don’t need your help.
“at least let me clean the wound!”
“you’ll be even worse off if you don’t let me bandage this.”
“i really think you need to see a doctor.”
“i made you some soup, and i’m going to sit here until you eat it. i can wait.”
“your feelings matter too! i can’t help you if i don’t even know what’s making you upset!”
“..i’m here if you need anything, okay?”
“stop trying to push yourself! you can’t do this on your own!”
“listen, i know you don’t want to, but.. maybe you should rest for a while. you’re not going to get anywhere like this.”
“i’ll make you a deal: i’ll just get you some bandages, and nothing else, and you stop making a fuss over it.”
“how long has it last been since you slept?”
“have you even been taking your medicine?”
“i know you think you have to get through this by yourself, but you have people here to help you.”
“let me take care of you, for once.”
“you’re gonna hurt yourself even more if you do stupid things like that!”
“i hate to break it to you, but you’re not supposed to do any strenuous physical activity for the next couple weeks, and if i have to personally make sure you don’t every waking hour of the day then i’m fully prepared to do that.”
“it’s okay to cry in front of me, you know. you don’t have to carry this alone.”
“stop trying to act like you’re not bleeding out in front of me!! this is serious!”
“listen, asshole. i’m gonna carry you home whether you like it or not. you’re not in any condition to get there yourself.”
“oh my god, why didn’t you tell me it was this bad?!”
"Normally I'm not a fan of borin' things but I hope I die of somethin' simple like old age. Old age is natural and not an embarassin' way to die like freezin' is." PJ remarks, softly chuckling at his own dark humor. The chuckle only lingers as Rinnil attempts to put his worn hat back on his head.
Reaching up and adjusting his hole poked hat so it properly fits on his curved horns, he soon adds, "I will keep you posted on anythin' creepin' about. Try to get some rest, will ya? I know most drow and elves don't sleep sleep but y'all all take a break to some extent."
ᒥ🕷ᒧ— Rinnill never thought about how he wanted to die, only that he didn't. Not that he expected and wished for immortality, he just never thought of his future that far in advance. "Hmm," He settled for a thoughtful hum to his words, unsure of what he even would say if he tried to say something.
Rinnill settled into his seat more with Patchwork's promise he would keep eyes on the surrounding. "My reverie is needed, yes." His teachings in Melee-Magthere were helpful if not torturous, as he could enter his mediation from land position if need be--and need there was as he didn't want to move from the warmth. It was rare he lounged when slipping into reverie, and so Rinnill's chin tipped forward as his eyes closed. He'd quickly enter the dark, silent space of his mind. Devoid of all sensory sensation, it was a soothing mindscape.
with a whirl, lyr had spun on his heel to scowl at the other drow, his fingers pressed with purpose into the pages of another magic book. he hummed a tune with no rhythm to himself, red eyes darting between the other man's, and then resumed his reading - for a moment at least, until, apparently dissatisfied, he slammed the book shut with a huff.
“i can't think when people talk. you people all talk so much.” there was only the two of them in this part of camp, but one other person was still more than lyr had spoken to for over five years. he felt itchy and scratched at his forearms until his skin began to hurt.
“i don't know. is it difficult to have so many sharp things? you have plenty of those. i have sharp things too. inside of me. around me. but i don't need to talk about them.”
seconds sons were always, almost always, sent to sorcere. rhylnar - rhys now - he got the sharp and pointy things, but he was so tall and so strong, it only made sense. he was smaller and weaker and second, so they'd forced magic into him. he used to love it. now he only loved it some days. some days he just hated it.
he tossed the book at rinnill, and it was probably difficult to tell if he was being dismissive or being friendly. “i don't like that one anymore. you can have it.”
ᒥ🕷ᒧ— A bit of a prickly personality did not wound him; he was often described to being quite the poor company himself. And the younger drow was right to be agitated as Rinnill had interrupted what was an important time for studying. Nothing notably offended or irritated showed on his stoic features at Lyr's dagger tongue.
What was surprising was the book offered, though he reflexes saw him catching the book before it could hit him in a humiliating manner. "Bel'la dos," He offered his thanks in drowic and looked over the book. He could not harness the magic within, he knew already, but it would give him the insight he sought.
Rinnill would open the book and skim pages, leaving Lyr to return to his studying uninterrupted. It was the least he could offer after distracting the young mage.
' i keep my anxiety bottled up, where it belongs. '
TOMODACHI LIFE: LIVING THE DREAM / @thelxstdrow
🌑 . . . ╰──╮ ❝Mm. That explains why you look so constipated all the time,❞ Shadowheart remarked with a sassy grin & nonchalantly took another sip of wine.
ᒥ🕷ᒧ— Rinnill tilted his head curiously and his white brows scrunched down. "You believe I am in gastrointestinal distress?" Seems the joke flew over his head.
"I am not. I know of many herbal remedies to avoid aliments that would slow me down in combat, I assure you." It also seemed he didn't keep his anxiety as bottled up as he believed, as his paranoia lead to him always being prepared.
"Does your dark goddess have remedies for gastrointestinal symptoms? Or are you ailed helplessly when such things occur? I would not think it a concern of Shar's on the regularity of your bowel movements."
"I'm not a violent person... and I'm no danger to you or any of our friends. Not anymore." Pomelia quickly assured him as the lack of response from him only served to heighten her anxiety and insecurity. Even though she spoke like the words were tumbling from her lips, there was a deep sincerity to them. "I just want you to know that much." she mumbled, her penitent gaze falling down to the dead, glassy eyes of the deer which only served to make her look more troubled.
ᒥ🕷ᒧ— "I have no fear of you," He began, looking ahead as he carried the deer. "You should be violent, however. A gentle hand is the first to be lost to a blade." Rinnill certainly wasn't the man to be speaking about such things with. He had little issue putting down whoever he needed to if they posed an active threat to him.
"And no one here is my friend. You are merely the people I need to accomplish getting the illithid parasite out of my head." How his honesty would be his downfall; what was often a desired trait in someone Rinnill managed to twist into a verbal dagger against others.
ᒥ🕷ᒧ— Rinnill's brow scrunched and he looked to the extravagant drow with an annoyed look. "There is a saying, I'm sure you've heard it before on the Surface. How the pot calls the kettle black." He didn't feel it was fair for the trouble-making Jarlaxle to judge him.
"Are you not familiar with being in a tricky situation?" With his current predicament, his mood was sour. Rinnill did not enjoy the 'excitement' of trouble like the Bregan D'aerthe leader.
ᒥ🤡ᒧ— Fuck...FUCK. I have so many replies to do :'^) I'm gonna try to do one each for everyone, but know all are in my drafts, so if we have multiple, I PROMISE it's in my drafts to be done either later (doubtful) or tomorrow (more likely).
ᒥ🤡ᒧ— So sorry for the disappearance, I've been engaged in my other hobbies and going on trips during the day. I will be active tomorrow 🥲 Here is some of hobbies and Aquarium trip pictures as an apology.
ᒥ🤡ᒧ— So sorry for the disappearance, I've been engaged in my other hobbies and going on trips during the day. I will be active tomorrow 🥲 Here is some of hobbies and Aquarium trip pictures as an apology.
ᒥ🕷ᒧ— A gentle tap of a small foot on his hand and the drow man looked up from his journal to the pearlescent, many-eyed stare of the spiderling. With a small and kind smile, Rinnill reached over to gently pet the phase spiderling's carapace. Something warm swells in his chest when she does not shy from his touch in a delicate spot on her exoskeleton. "My shining girl," Came a soft coo and he ran a knuckle on her pedipalp, the limb twitching at his touch before rubbing back with an innocent curiosity only a simple-minded creature could have.
"Nym," His voice is soft as he thinks on her name, the memories that are dredged up from its origin. She was named for a wicked man, a man that had preyed upon his anger and wrath. The name was to spite the wicked drow, to prove he did not need the evil of his kin to thrive.
~~~
Ilystryph was one of hundreds of commoner families whose surname held no power in the City of Intrigue. Much like the other commoner houses, his family was small and inconsequential, just another set of faces among the busy crowd of the bazaar streets. He knew the streets well, though the vendors often switched up their stall placements, as his birth district of Duthcloim was situated right beside the merchant district.
Rinnill is lost in his thought as he and his elder brother, Elkven, walked the bazaar as they often did when time came for stocking the Ilystryph home. The quiet settled between them wasn't unusual, but that day it carried an air of something darker building. He still felt the sharp sting of Elvra's lashing on his spine, and he was sure his elder brother felt his own marks all the same.
"...I am offering you an olive branch, little brother," Elkven suddenly disrupts the quiet. The younger drow looks to his brother, tilting his head some at the words. Elkven sneered, grabbing Rinnill's arm to give him a jostle, "You're such a mindless thing, Second Boy. Will you pay attention for once?" He spat the insult at the younger drow, but with the fresh marks gifted by their sister Rinnill keeps his practiced mask of numbness.
"What is it you wish to enlighten me to, Elder Boy?" Rinnill speaks, his voice soft and his shoulders hung in a submissive manner to keep from irking the older male. It seems to do the trick, as Elkven releases Rinnill's arm from his bruising grip and looks ahead with a scoff.
"Just follow," Elkven huffed and took the lead in his walk. Rinnill, as the lowest in House Ilystryph's hierarchy, wasn't in any place to argue and so he did as he was told. The elder boy led him to a corner of the bazaar Rinnill often steered clear of, a place of the rougher folk of Menzoberranzan's commoners. Suffering enough abuse in his own home, the younger drow didn't feel the need to receive a knife in his back should he so much as look at someone wrong.
An abrupt turn and before them was a dark, closed in entrance. "This is the Jewel Box, Rinnill. Here? You will learn release." Elkven says as he goes down the steps. The younger elf tilted his head again, unsure of what his brother meant. Was this some kind of brothel? Rinnill cared little for sexual exploits. And was it with other men? No female would degrade herself to such a degree by being the toy of males. "Second Boy!" The elder boy hissed impatiently, Rinnill quickly following after before he'd received a slap or punch.
At the bottom of the steps laid a door with a latch at eye level. Behind the door was the muffled sounds of hedonistic things. Rinnill felt the urge to look at his brother wishing to understand, but he only looked ahead. Elkven knocked on the door and a slider moved to look the pair over once before it was shut. There was the sound of a lock being turned and the door was opened to them.
The Ilystryph brothers enter, met with the sight that confirmed what Rinnill heard from outside: drinking, gambling, and shit music. All males, which wasn't surprising as it was males in Menzoberranzan who felt they needed the most reprieve from the oppressive Matriarchy of Lolthite culture. Rinnill had never engaged with places such as this, for fear Nendra would lash him should she know he was doing anything other than what she commanded of him. What was surprising was that it was Elkven, Nendra's loyal dog and perfect puppet, that was showing him this place. For just a moment, the younger drow felt a tickle of trust forming between them--something rare even among family in their chaotic city of birth. However, the trust fizzled out when Rinnill's ear was tugged sharply by the elder boy. "Lower your head, fool. Don't stare," The other soclded. Rinnill, as always, did as he was told.
Releasing his ear, Elkven led his younger brother to a man in the back of the room by a set of stairs. Rinnill's scarlet eyes glanced up quick to take in the man for the briefest moment. Scared and jaded, certainly easy to tell by the grimace hard-set into his features. What was most intriguing however was what Rinnill didn't see in the man's face, but rather his legs. Or, should he say, the lack of one.
"Nym," Elkven addressed, tugging his coin pouch loose from his belt.
The man, Nym, was focused on Rinnill rather than Elkven. "You bring a rat into my place?"
Rinnill kept his gaze lowered and resisted the urge to shiver under the man's scrutinizing gaze.
"We pay like you pay; you think we can have sway with the guards?" Elkven counters. The man simply grumbled something before taking the coin purse.
"You better not mark them up, or you'll be paying extra, you hear, boy?" Rinnill stiffened when Nym addressed him. He was lost in what was happening.
"I...I will be very careful with them, sir."
Elkven and Nym snorted, exchanging a look that Rinnill couldn't decipher. Just what was going on here? Why was it humorous that he'd be careful with whatever 'them' was? There was no time to ponder, as his elder brother grabbed his wrist with that same bruising grip and began leading him down to the cellar of the Jewel Box.
Anxiety twisted in his gut, perhaps his brother had laid a trap and wished to kill him this day. Had Nendra grown tired of him and saw him a burden? Seventy-five years he had survived in Menzoberranzan, of course he'd be rewarded by meeting his end in some dirty cellar.
If only that had been the horror that met him when his brother led him into a room. Walking in, he halted as he looked upon the drow woman. Shackled to the wall, she stared at them with nothing but hate and disgust. She was bruised, she was bloody, and she was ragged from what was clearly physical abuse repeated over and over again.
The shock of the sight was enough to give Rinnill the courage to look at Elkven with owlish wide eyes. "This is our outlet, little brother. Elvra may use us as her stress relief, but this female? She is ours to torment for the next hour," The sickening smirk of pleasure on Elkven's face made Rinnill shiver.
"Elkven--" Rinnill began, about to voice his uncertainty when the older Ilystryph boy interrupted him.
"Hit her, Rinnill. Look upon her, see our wicked sister and hit her." Elkven grabbed him by the shoulders and gave a shove to move him towards the bound woman. "The lashes she gave us today? Feel their burn like a fire, hit her!"
He stares at the woman, eyes wide as he fought the urge to begin trembling from the pressure of his brother's shouts.
"Go on...Jaluk--" Slap. Rinnill froze, his hand hovering over the female's already bruised cheek. How long he fought down the anger that incited inside him whenever he heard that word. Elkven scoffed behind him.
"A slap? That's all? You have to have more fire than that, Second Boy."
The woman looked up sharply at Rinnill, "A second Boy, are you? Even slaves are--" His fist connected with her jaw, Rinnill snarling now that he was given a chance to hit back when insults were thrown his way.
"Strike her as much as you need, Rinnill. Remember, though, do not mark her." Elkven moved behind him, leaning his shoulder on the wall to watch the insulting act of not just a male, but a lowly second born son of a common house strike this once-priestess. He imagined her as their sister, Elvra, suffering such a degrading act.
Rinnill punched her again as she opened her mouth. And again. And again. Soon he lost track of how much he had struck this drow. His bloodied knuckles rise to strike her once more and he stops, all his anger and visions of Elvra fizzling out as he saw the tears falling from the woman's eyes. What was he doing? Rinnill's fist uncurled and he took a tentative step back, forcing a numb mask on his face while horror churned his insides. This was wrong, no matter who this woman was--She was not the thing of his ire, she was merely the product of a system of drow pit against each other by their deranged Goddess.
"Nice timing, it's my turn, little brother." Elkven gently pat his shoulder and stepped up. Where Rinnill's anger had been feral and uncontrolled, Elkven was much more deliberate in the pain he brought the bound woman. Rinnill had to look away, unable to stomach the sounds of her screams as Elkven tortured her. The room began to spin, his heart rate quickened, his eyes fell to her blood on his fists and the screaming was deafening. He stumbled his way out of the room, muttering some lie about wishing to give his brother privacy.
In the cellar hall, Rinnill battled his stomach to keep his breakfast down, fought to keep his breathing controlled, forced himself to stay upright by propping himself against the wall. What had he done? Yes, he was angry, but this wasn't right. This was wrong. Everything about this place was wrong. And to his horror, he realized why his brother had brought him here--It was never trust, but blackmail. Elkven would use this against him. The slightest sign of doubt and this experience would be outed to their eldest sister, Nendra. He played right into his brother's hands, grasping at a false sense of bonding he longed for between him and his kin.
Another scream and Rinnill winced. And not just blackmail, this was release for Elkven--A man scarred from his twin over and over.
And that man, that one-legged man, Nym...He profited from this. Trapped woman to be beaten and tortured by the males with their unending hate and anger for the other gender. Sickening, and Rinnill had proven he was just as hateful. He was a monster just like Elkven, just like Nym, Elvra, Nendra, every godforsaken soul within this damned city. He was drow. A curse he'd never escape.
~~~
A twinge of pain from his residual limb snapped him from the memory. Journal set aside, he reached his hands down to rub the muscle that remained of his calf in hopes of keeping the phantom pain from rearing its ugly head that night. Distracted by the attempt, Rinnill suddenly felt a soft foot pad tap against his cheek. Scarlet eyes flicked over to Nym's again and the smile returned.
"I will never give in to the anger," Came a soft mutter from the man as he reached out to Nym and pet her again. "I am drow, but I am not. Just as you are Nym, but you are not." His anger was reserved for those who had directly inflicted pain upon him, never would he fall down the path of One-Legged Nym, a man so cruel and jaded he trapped and tortured those who were not the source of his pain. Used their torture for profit, and what, unfortunately, seemed to be lucrative one had the Matron Mothers not shut down such a brazen, disgusting display--gender of the captives aside.
"You are proof that drow can be kind, that I can be kind and wish to be..."
ᒥ🕷ᒧ— There is truly nothing you can offer to Rinnill to get him to return to Menzoberranzan. The world could be ending, and the solution was in Menzoberranzan and still he wouldn't return. The fear and trauma he suffers from Menzoberranzan has such a tight hold on him, more than he acknowledges. He's not prone to emotional outbursts, but arguing with him over returning to Menzoberranzan would absolutely get him to crash out. You couldn't force him; he will try to kill you if you try to drag him back. No matter who you are to him.
All he wants to hear of Menzoberranzan is that it has burned and been destroyed. Otherwise, he couldn't care for any other news. He wants it to be nothing to him now, he wants to forget the intimate details of his time in Menzoberranzan.
