i wrote this partially as a response to this ask by the lovely @definitelynot-darcy and partially because i had an idea and had to get it on paper yes i did get out of bed to write this and yes i did hurt my own feelings
as always i love hearing what people think and appreciate any and all reblogs!
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I was downstairs, by the fire in the library. He was working as he always was at that infernal Project. O, I cannot call it infernal. It was as much his love as he was mine. Perhaps it was love that was so insidious. Perhaps my judgment is clouded.
The Project itself I have never fully understood. I have loved him and I think it has simply been beyond my ken. The man himself I should like to think I have known and felt and understood, in at least as many ways as he has me.
We met at the university library. He was as yet a student, I recently graduated. The library was open to the community, and in the little time that I had, I had taken to checking out books on things I lacked all knowledge of. Something to keep the mind at work outside of the grind of employ. I read somewhere it was good to work the brain at infrequent tasks to keep the wit quick. In my memory he is clear, though I cannot for the life of me remember where on earth we were within the winding stacks.
I find all possible links I could draw to his Project blank in my memory now.
But his smile, the way it was always lopsided, so as to hide the chipped tooth he was so embarrassed by. That is clear as the glasses he refused to wear. I remember, he always tucked them in his pocket and I always worried they would be crushed. He always reassured me that they were perfectly safe. I cannot help but believe him now.
Our love was slow. I think he was shy, he says I was rather bold. I like to think I just couldnât help myself, even if it meant bending a few expectations. We married six years later, on the last day of autumn. He came across the revelation that sparked the Project the next night. I remember how he held me, so tight I thought I would never find a safer place than his arms.
You read so many stories of husbands lost to their work. Mine was never lost to me. He was mine even in his worst moments, in the moments of feverish philosophy. I remember, in our third year of marriage, he did come down with fever. I worried so much then; the way he tossed and turned in restless sleep, the incessant rambling of indecipherable thought. I had tried to write it down for him, but when he finally pulled through he had less of an idea of the notesâ meaning than I.
He had his position at the university, as I had my own work, finances were never the worry. Between our schedules, and his time in his study and mine in the library, there was always time for us. Once, I had taken ill with the season, and to my knowledge for the fortnight I was laid up with fever he did not once leave my side, except for to fetch us food and new books. Even when he had to leave for work, he left notes on a small pile of reading for me should I have felt well enough. He was so utterly dedicated to that which he loved.
It has only been recently that I feel a change occurred.
It was not long after our fifteenth anniversary that it happened. Nothing in his behaviors changed, nor did his manner towards me, I think it was his perspective on the Project. Some unfathomable shift in his mind. It is all so unclear.
I do not think I am much longer for this world, forgive me, but I must move along. That which is unknown to me is not particularly pressing.
The firelight had swept out. That is the best way I can understand it. It was as if some great shadow had come across the fireplace. And then it flickered back to life. I donât know what it was, but some Thing in my gut told me it was him and his Project and at long last he had crossed a threshold not meant for him.
I moved faster than I had in some time, the candlelight in the halls of our house flickering in and out without so much as a breath and found myself at the door of the study. Unlocked. Shadows dancing from beneath the crack of the door. Labored breathing, so familiar to my old heart. I pressed on, the wood of the door so cold to the touch I thought it almost ice.
And there he was. He was mine, as he had always been, but something was so changed I fear I cannot put it into words. I could scarcely comprehend it when it was before me.
It was as if he was not truly there. I remember he turned towards me, and he wore that smile of his. But the grimace behind it showed the tooth that should have been chipped, and it was just as perfectly shaped as I imagine it once was. He told me he was sorry. He told me it was not death but we must part and I think I started to cry and that is when he stood from his chair and put his arms around me.
I have never felt so alone. His arms were nothing, a wisp, cold against me. I did not even try to hold him, that anchor deep within me telling me whatever nothing was left of him would break me more than anything.
He thanked me. And he apologized as he had so many times before in that voice he used only for me, that his work would take him far. He said he loved me and I felt ice in my throat when he kissed my cheek. He pulled away and I have never felt such anger as that at my relief at the warmth in his absence. He took me by the shoulders, and he said to me: âI have loved you more than I think any one person has ever loved. If I forget you I think my heart will always remember, and if my mind and your memory remain, then I shall spend every moment wishing I was different and that I might have made you happy.â
The shadows in the curls of his hair stretched, the darkness under his collar becoming a secondary maw, the pool of darkness below his feet a gaping pit. I reached for him and I can only hope that the outstretched shadow of an arm was the last vestige of his rather than my own.
His glasses were perched tidily atop a neatly stacked pile of notebooks and paper on his desk.
I have not left this study since, save to scavenge for the last of the food in our cupboards. I do not know how much time has passed. I have been reading his notes and the books he kept here. If I am correct, I will join him, wherever he has gone. If I am wrong, then I will no longer suffer his absence. I leave this to whoever may find these notes if they come looking for us. If they havenât already; if my senses have not failed me I believe there was a knock at our door not some hours past. It does not matter. I will find him, or I will cease.
i originally posted this here on an ask from @definitelynot-darcy (thank you so much again it means the world) but i'm also putting it here! as always any and all feedback is appreciated
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He woke up with the taste of old blood in his mouth.
Eyes squeezed shut against the memory of burning sun he felt the ragged gums where his fangs used to be.
He breathed a sigh of relief, feeling the almost familiar sensation of air in his lungs. The pulse at his throat, his wrist, the warmth under his skin new, and yet an old ghost.
He fumbled for the false set of teeth on his nightstand. As wretched as it felt to have that sharp memory in his mouth against his tongue and lips, it stopped the dryness at the back of his throat, the way he felt like screaming in pain he hasnât truly felt in centuries.
Opening his eyes, he still jumps at the sight of sun spilling onto the sheets, onto his skin. Wearily, he sat up, feeling an unfamiliar ache at the nape of his neck. Sleeping was something he had forgotten over the years, never indulging in the rest he had in life. Previous life. Undeath always had that strange phrasing to it, never quite distinct enough to discuss, blurrier still now that he had removed himself from it. Or removed it bodily from himself, if he were to be honest.
Honesty still hurt.
Lying had come naturally, like a compulsion he couldnât help but wrap himself in and let it seep into his skin. It was so much easier to drink of and mangle the body of truth when it came knocking. And though he had never heard it spoken, as so many of the rules of his undeath had been quietly learned, he was never quite sure if the lies were part of him, some joke meant to plague those who reveled in it less, or if he had just always been that way, and it had been exaggerated in the transformation.
Humanity had not always been so strange to him. Once he had been a child, as most things have been, and he had bled and breathed and bounded across the stages of life. He was sure there had been an old family, though he no longer remembered the name they had given him. They had mattered so little after he had been bitten.
Where the memories of youth and life shine so bright, the time before he had fully transformed had always been gray and hazy. Just the pain of being drained but the unnatural fulfillment brought by the trance he had been under.Â
He had never taken thralls. It was a cruelty he couldnât quite stomach. Or perhaps it had been the threat of responsibility.Â
And the sharpness of transmogrification. The way the world itself had become more angled, more vicious to even look at. The comfort in the dark and the biting fire of attempts to exist under the sun. The pain so great and terrible anything he had ever felt and would ever feel would pale in comparison.
He wasnât sure if undoing the change had hurt more, or if the act had simply reminded him what suffering was.
The wall ahead of him blank, he reeled his thoughts away from the memories. Stopped himself from the same spiral he fought every morning. Slowly, he climbed out of the bed, bones groaning without the old strength holding them up and muscles straining without supernatural aid. He sipped the water he had left for himself the night before, swishing the taste of copper out of his mouth.
He turned, glancing at the window, curtains shoddily drawn across. The bookshelves, less dusty than they had been in innumerable decades, almost new bedsheets despite their age, carpet from centuries prior only now seeing foot traffic.Â
And the door, still locked from the other side.Â
He closed his eyes again, feeling his weight on his feet. Letting his shoulders slump and his chin fall against his chest, he breathed. In, out, air still the stranger in his lungs as it had been when he had woken up every day since he tore the fangs from his mouth and the bloodlessness from his veins.
He readied himself for the wailing at his door come dusk, for the books he would more likely than not read time and time again until mortality at long last claimed him.
For now, he felt the sun on his skin, and reveled in the aches and pains in his body, and opened his eyes, unflinching in the light.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Critical Role (Web Series)
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast
Characters: Essek Thelyss, Caleb Widogast
Series: Part 6 of Essek Week 2021
so this was meant to be for days 6 and 7 of @essek-week which were tower // fate and au // free day respectively and im a little late but i still did write it
so feel free to read here or on ao3!
Essek stood in the centre of the ninth floor of Calebâs tower, watching images of himself walk the endless possibilities around him. Hundreds of lifetimes, so similar and so different to the one he had lived. To stand in this roomâ â it was a line of thought he had followed late into many nights, wondering what and who he might have been in some other life. If the threads of fate would have pulled him so hard towards people who he did not deserve.
He remembered as a child being told the story of how the Luxon had tied glowing strings of fate between destined people, people who would complete each other in some way. Soulmates. Essek hadnât believed the story, after all he had never seen any glowing string tied to him. He remembered the odd look his younger brother had given him when he had made some offhand comment about it, followed by Verin holding up his hand and tracing an invisible line through the air. Essek thought Verin was joking for so long.
It was barely before his first century had passed when he had realized that there was no joke.
He had been working at some theory or another, and within the space of a breath something had pulled tight around his heart for just a moment. He had put a hand on his chest, suddenly fearing illness. But noâ â there was a pale, glowing string tied around the small finger of his hand.
The details of the story had come rushing to his head; you would see a thread tied around your own hand, but you would only see the connecting thread when you had met your soulmate. The Luxon, as he had been told, had wanted people to work towards it and learn, not obsess over it and ruin themselves.
But it was real. Essek had spent nights reworking the number of his theories after the discovery. He hadnât told anyoneâ â not that anyone outside Verin knew that he hadnât seen one. If Verin remembered, in any case.
Although the discovery of the existence of soulmates had been a shock, Essek still felt a wave of anxiety and shock whenever the memory of discovering who his string had tied him to surfaced. He took a deep breath as he let the memory wash over him.
The Mighty Nein had been marched into the halls of the Lucid Bastion, and Essek had almost dropped the spell that kept him afloat as he very suddenly had seen a glowing line drawn between him and Caleb. It was only slightly less of a shock now that he knew the other wizardâs name, but seeing him then, dirty and harnessed and holding up the beacon he had traded to the Empire, had shaken him to his core.
He had ignored it for so long, hoping perhaps Caleb simply didnât see the string as Essek had slowly and against his will had grown to care about the Nein. He felt his brows pull together as he sighed, again feeling the tug at his heart for betraying the family the Nein had become to him and the betrayal he had done before he even knew their names.
That, on top of his growing feelings for Calebâ â he had never been able to tell what had been pulling at him when Caleb had pressed a kiss to his forehead or gently squeezed his forearm. When he had reassured Essek, his Zemnian accent echoing in Essekâs ears. If it had been the string tugging at proximity or his own affections.
Not that it mattered, or ever would.
He could stand here and look at the wonder Caleb had created, watching different lifetimes of himself walk paths that may never have connected with Caleb, or that hadnât involved betrayal and deals with the Empire as long as he wanted, but it would not change the facts of this lifetime. Of the limited and limitless possibilities this timeline offered.
If Caleb could not see the string connecting them, that was fine. He would never speak of it, just as he would never speak of his feelings. If Caleb could see the string and was choosing to ignore it just as he was, it was just another similarity between them. And another difference, albeit an expected one, in that Caleb very likely did not feel the same.
How was it possible to be so similar to someone and be so different and yet be connected by the very thread that wove the universe?
Essek almost had to laugh, but the building pressure behind his eyes stopped him from anything other than a short exhale as he paused in his thinking, letting himself indulge in possibility for just a moment.
With Lucien and the threat of the Somnovum eliminated perhaps he could truly build a friendship unbroken by betrayal with the Nein. Essek would leave his position as Shadowhand, and remove himself from the politics of the Dynasty. He would quell his ambitions, and quietly spend his days studying. Perhaps Caleb would be there. Maybe they could open a school, rivalling the Soltryce Academy in renown, and teach until Caleb passed. Caleb could leave this world having left a footprint that erased the mark Ikithon had left. Then Essekâs string would fade and he would move on and simply study and learn until his own time came, and perhaps he would be buried in the Clay familyâs cemetery.Â
Essek blinked away the wet in his eyes, smiling grimly and shaking his head free of the fantasy. After all, thatâs what it was. It was unlikely he would see a natural end, and it would be a wonder if he could extricate himself from the mess of lies and politics that awaited him should he ever return to Rosohna. That aside, he couldnât claim to know what Caleb or the rest of the Mighty Nein wanted. Much less if they still wanted him around. He was being irrational.Â
Perhaps he simply needed to rest, and all this turmoil could be forgotten in the morning. He would gracefully excuse himself from the Nein, they would be glad to see him go, and he would go to Rosohna, where he would surely be put to death for treason and that would be the end of it.
âI hope Iâm not interrupting,â Calebâs voice sounded from behind him. Essek swiped a hand over his face, internally wincing as he turned and watched that glowing string bridge the distance between him and Caleb where he stood at the entrance to the room.
âNo, not at all.â Essek let the words fall into the air, his surprise showing more than he would have liked as he let his eyes remain on the string.
âI didnât know you were up here, I thought-â Caleb paused, and Essek couldnât stop his gaze from flicking up to meet Calebâs eyes, âCan you see it too?âÂ
Essek started, blinking and pulling the hand where the string was tied to his chest. âI-â He paused just for a moment, letting possibilities flow through his mind, âYes. I wasnât aware you could see it too.â Essek took a breath, and resigned himself to leaving in the night. âWere you ever taught what it means, living in the Empire?â
Calebâs cheeks flushed with colour as he responded, breaking eye contact. âIn a way, I suppose. There was a story my mother told me, that some people were brought together by destiny. I think for a time I believed her, but I always thought it was just a story.â
âI thought it was a story, too.â Essek pressed his lips together, and wished that his self-restraint had not failed him as he took a small step towards Caleb. âIn the Dynasty, I was taught that the Luxon had connected certain people with string. Soulmates, meant to complete each other.â Essek looked away, at the string that crossed the suddenly very small seeming distance between them.
âThat is not unlike the story I was taught.â Essek heard more than saw as Caleb took a step closer, and began a second step as he spoke, âEssek, I-â
âI know.â Essek looked up into the sea of possibility of the room, swallowing. âYou donât want to act on it, I understand. I-â Essek felt his head pulled to meet those piercing blue eyes, Calebâs hands suddenly cupping his face. âOh.â Essek felt blood rush to his face as he exhaled, eyes wide.
The moment stretched endless between them.
âMay I?â Calebâs voice made Essekâs breath hitch, pulling him back to his body as he nodded.
Calebâs hands moved up into Essekâs hair, pulling him down to his level as their lips met. Essek felt that pull at his heart as he let his feet touch the floor, but as he pulled away, breathless, he knew he would never have been able to live that fantasy life without Caleb.
The other wizardâs brows furrowed in concern, but Essek wrapped his own arms around Caleb, pulling him close and standing on his toes to kiss Caleb, again and again and again.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Critical Role (Web Series)
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Characters: Essek Thelyss, Caleb Widogast, Beauregard Lionett, The Mighty Nein, Lucien (Critical Role)
Series: Part 5 of Essek Week 2021
this is for day five of @essek-week which was breathe // eye contact! i had a lot of fun with this one even if it didnât come out to be very long
as per usual with these feel free to read on here or on ao3!
The battle was not going well.Â
They had gone in with a plan: surround the Tomb Takers on all sides and keep the magic users separated so they couldnât all be taken out at once by Lucienâs anti-magic eye. And it had turned the tide in their favour. For a time.
But now Essek was just scrambling for an idea while trying to stay out of Lucienâs path. And trying to make sure that every last member of the Mighty Nein made it.
He could see Beau still standing, Yasha by her side. Veth sprinted throughout the cavern they were in, firing bolt after bolt. Caduceus and Fjord within a tornado of iridescent beetles, flashes of magic showing through. Jester not far off, or was that her duplicate?Â
The Tomb Takers had been scattered, and while Lucien stood at the centre of the chaos his remaining followers flew in and out of Essekâs field of vision as he searched for Caleb. Flashes of magic, a counterspell, bolts and gleaming metalâ âÂ
He saw Beauâs legs fall out from under her, Jesterâs duplicate popped out of existence, a strangled but familiar cry echoed in the cavern.
Noâ .Â
They would not die here. The Tomb Takers would be felled, and his friendsâ â his family, would live. And they would be whole and good and safe. The Mighty Nein had trusted him, taken him in, given him nothing but kindness he had done nothing to deserve. He was already damned but he would ruin himself before he let them die.Â
An idea of a spell flickered in the back of his mind.
There.
Following Lucienâs line of sight, Essek found Caleb.
The wizard was frantically rifling through his pockets, components falling used with no effect from his hands. Lucien stalked towards him, tail cracking through the air as he moved.
The spell clicked into place in Essekâs mind. He remembered learning it, delicately copying it into his spellbook as he had decided he would never use it.Â
His hands already held the components before he remembered why he made that decision.
It didnât matter anymore. He was on borrowed time and he would let the sand run from his hourglass if that meant more for them.
The words of the spell tasted sour on his tongue, burning as he pulled his hands through the air, feeling the space between them thicken like tar. He pulled at it, spinning it over into itself and crushing it into an ever-smaller sphere, over and over and over again. With each motion Essek felt the spell tear at his body, pulling his joints apart and darkening the edges of his vision.
He gritted his teeth, inhaling once, and letting the last word of the spell fall into place and shoving the spell into Lucien, a sudden wind ripping through his hair as pain stabbed down his spine.
Black spidered across his vision as he felt the spell take hold.
Every single inch of his body burned as he felt his knees buckle, pain rippling through his muscles and crushing his bones to dust.
He hit the ground and there was nothing.
Almost nothing.
Essek blinked without eyes. Stars glittered in a sky that did not exist. He floated, feet firmly on unseen ground. He felt everything and nothing.
It was wonderful and terrible all at once.
He thought he smiled.
âBreathe, Essek, come on you stupid wizard!âÂ
Eyelids that very suddenly existed flew open, and air flooded very real lungs, immediately followed by a hiss through his teeth as pain blinded him and he saw that field of stars and impossibility for just a moment.
There.
Blue eyes, bright with something he couldnât name quite yet, framed with familiar orange hair. Essek locked onto them, letting the rest of his vision slowly fill in around the eye contact withâŚÂ
Caleb, thatâs who the eyes belonged to. At the back of his mind he saw hours flipping through books, eyes meeting briefly before looking away.Â
Essek didnât want to look away anymore.
In his periphery, memories filled in as he processed the scene. A house with a tree growing from it, a dinner, a homemade hot tub, a party, hours of trekking and planning in the snow. Blue hair and blue monkâs robes, green beetles and green skin, faded yellow flowers and a bright yellow dress. Hushed voices and boisterous laughter.
They were all there. They had all made it.
He had made it.
Essek pulled himself from his memories, looking from face to face, putting names back in place.
He found Calebâs gaze again, holding it. The other wizardâs face split into a grin, and Essek felt his own lips stretch into an identical shape.
He felt his lungs heave again, and he couldnât help but hope to see todayâs sunrise, and every sunrise after that for a very, very long time.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Critical Role (Web Series)
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast, Essek Thelyss & Verin Thelyss, Beauregard Lionett/Yasha
Characters: Essek Thelyss, Caleb Widogast, Verin Thelyss, Beauregard Lionett, Yasha (Critical Role), The Mighty Nein
Series: Part 4 of Essek Week 2021
this was for day four of @essek-week, which was guilt // family!! i had a lot of fun with this prompt even if this is getting posted very late
as per usual with these feel free to read here or on ao3!
Essek was not quite sure what he was doing. Well, he was sure that at the moment he was making sure he had every component he needed in his component pouch, but the was more likely than not just a way to keep his hands occupied so heâd stop nervously wringing them and drifting back and forth across the library of Calebâs tower. Come to think of it, Caleb was probably where he picked up the component counting. Which was not terribly unexpected. It was certainly less unexpected than the reaction he was currently having.
The reaction being due to what Essek was rather unsure about: asking Verin if he would join them for some battle or another. He couldnât remember the exacts of the excuse heâd told to both his brother and the Nein. He hoped he wouldnât need to, neither had been particularly hard to convince. The Nein had wanted to know why they hadnât met Verin sooner, and Verin himself was too kind-hearted to say no unless he had been particularly swamped with his post in Bazzoxan.
Essek almost wished Verin had said he was busy. Then he could have pretended to be disappointed with the rest of the Mighty Nein and said that they would just have to go to Bazzoxan without him if they were so set on meeting his brother on the grounds that he still didnât want to be anywhere near Rosohna.
But then there were the reasons he had really invited Verin. He had wanted his blood family and the family he had found in the Nein to meet, yes, but there was also the matter of Caleb. Who he was desperately, hopelessly in love with and wanted to propose to.Â
Not that he really deserved Caleb. Caleb had goals for the good of others, all his wrongs had been put upon him, all his acts had been under the influence of someone far crueller. Whereas Essek had only ever done what he wanted. What would benefit him alone, consequences be damned. Sure he had made an effort since, as much as he could, but his actions were still far from forgivable. The voices of the Nein seemingly so long ago, echoed in his head. Thousands have died, Essek. And his brotherâ â always so much more than Essek had ever been. More of a son, and just as much if not more than the pride of their den than he had been. Essek was the Shadowhand, however long that would continue to last, but Verin was not any less for being the younger of the pair and being titled Taskhand.
Maybe he should just tell Verin not to come. That he was needed more in Bazzoxan. He would forget proposing to Caleb, so they neednât meet. He would leave the Mighty Nein in the night and he would never worry anyone again.
The last of his components fell into place in his pouch.
The iris at the bottom of the library opened, Caleb gently floating through, that slight smile on his lips but a nervousness in his eyes as he looked toward Essek.
âYour brother is at the door, Liebling, and I do think Jester can only keep him there for so long,â Caleb walked to where Essek stood, gently taking his hands, âare you coming?â Caleb looked up at him, meeting his gaze.
Essek took a shuddering breath. No. âI think I can make meeting my own brother.â
Caleb raised his eyebrows appraisingly, sighing. âAlright.â He pressed a kiss to Essekâs cheek, and whispered: âAnd just in case you were feeling nervous, Beau and Yasha promised to keep you safe.â He pulled away, linking their fingers. âI said I would be okay, but Veth insisted that if your brother is more of a fighter Iâm not much protection, Iâm too squishy.â
Essek felt himself exhale, laughing despite himself at Vethâs protectiveness of Caleb. âThank you, Caleb.â He let himself smile, squeezing Calebâs hand. He took a breath, exhaled again. âIâm ready.â
He let Caleb guide him to the iris, which closed as they floated down to the second floor where Beau and Yasha waited, Yashaâs sword swung over her shoulder while her other hand tucked a flower behind Beauâs ear. The donât-even-think-about-mentioning-it glare Beau gave Essek and Caleb should have been enough to make the flower shrivel if it had been the subject of it.
âReady?â Beau asked, one foot over the iris down as she and Yasha looked to Essek. He nodded, and the now group of four began to descend.
Essek felt his fears rise in his throat, and was about to tell Caleb they needed to stop, but the other wizard squeezed his hand as if he knew, and nodded his head to where Jester was keeping Verin at the door with Veth beside her in the doorway, Caduceus and Fjord nearby, grins stretching across their faces. Jesterâs obvious excitement was contagious, even as he was only just hearing her voice, and with Caleb at his side, it was almost hard to be nervous. Almost.
âJester!â Beau called as their feet hit the ground of the entrance floor. âYou can let him in now!â
âOkay!â
And suddenly Verin was inside, all chitinous armour and long hair, but smiling good-naturedly.
Jester was immediately all questions, after a small apology about the whole password situation, she really was sorry he hadnât figured it out sooner but now she had so many things to ask!
âIs Verin taller than you?â Yasha leaned slightly down from his left and asked.
âI-â Essek barely had time to think about a response before Beau interjected.
âWait, did you learn your floating thing so you werenât shorter than your younger brother?â Beau whispered loudly around Caleb. Essek felt his face flush and was very thankful Jester was keeping Verin occupied.
âEssek!â Verinâs gleeful shout echoed in the chamber.
Or not.
Before he knew it, Essek was swept up in his brotherâs arms, and just as quickly released as Verin pushed silver-white hair out of his face.
âItâs been too long, Essek, you are alone too much. Although,â Verin looked to the three surrounding Essek and gestured to the rest of the Nein, âthis is an improvement from that tower you have at home.â He paused again, heaving a sigh and putting a hand on his hip, armour whistling with the movement. âSo what was it that you needed my help fighting again?â
Essek scrambled for whatever lie he had told his brother, âOh, well,â His brow briefly furrowed as some movement behind Verin caught his eye, âI donât know if youâve heard of it, itâs quite similar to-â
âThis!â Essek heard Veth yell, and in a flash of green a massive, red ape-like demon was howling into the room.
âNot in the tower!â Caleb yelled before a string of Zemnian poured from his lips and his hands slipped into his component pouch.Â
The Nein and Verin burst into action around him, and despite the chaos, Essek felt the worry that something would go wrong slip from his shoulders as he went into his own components, pulling just the thing needed and joining his family in the fight.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Critical Role (Web Series)
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Essek Thelyss & Caleb Widogast
Characters: Essek Thelyss, Caleb Widogast
Series: Part 3 of Essek Week 2021
this is for day three of essek week ( @essek-week ) which was stars // adventure. this one isnt as long as the other two iâve done, but im pretty pleased with it
essentially i had an idea that the somatic components of dunamantic spells are actually constellations, so i was just playing with that, but feel free to read on here or on ao3!
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Critical Role (Web Series)
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Essek Thelyss & Caleb Widogast
Characters: Essek Thelyss, Caleb Widogast
Series: Part 3 of Essek Week 2021
this is for day three of essek week ( @essek-week ) which was stars // adventure. this one isnt as long as the other two iâve done, but im pretty pleased with it
essentially i had an idea that the somatic components of dunamantic spells are actually constellations, so i was just playing with that, but feel free to read on here or on ao3!
âDo you remember when I asked to check my work for the spell I figured against the actual workings?â Calebâs accent pulled Essek from his reading. They had not been in the library of the tower for long when the question had been posed, but Essek still had to pause before he could respond.
âYes, did you want to do that now? Of course ah-â Essek raised his eyebrows, âis your tower secure? I realize the amulets keep us safe, but what of this room?â
âItâs safe, I wouldnât have it any other way. I know how much danger Iâve already put you in, and I am terribly sorry, friend.â
âItâs alright, Caleb, itâs only a danger I put upon my own shoulders.â Essek closed his book and drifted to the table Caleb had been reading at, carefully pulling his spellbook from its pocket dimension and turning to the pages covering gravity sinkhole as Caleb pulled his own spellbook from its harness, placing it next to his.
Essek carefully scanned the pages looking for discrepancies, clicking his tongue when he found it. The somatic components were correct enough, but they were ever so slightly off.
âCaleb, how much do you know about the stars?â Essek turned to face him, the other wizard starting at the comment.
âNo more than anyone else, I suppose.â His gaze drifted and his brow furrowed just a touch. âNo, nothing special.â He finished, looking again to Essek.
âAlright, well-â Essek cut himself off, letting the explanations he was seeking run through his mind before settling on where he wanted to begin, âdo you happen to have a map of the night sky here?â
âI can.â The wizard turned, walking quickly to a red velvet rope pull, and waiting for a moment before a black cat appeared at his feet. âJannik, please be so kind as to bring us a map of the stars.â
The cat, Jannik, meowed in response, somehow managing to sound both fine with doing the task but mildly annoyed at being asked, almost as if the cat had sighed. Jannik turned back the way he came, and moments later returned carrying a rolled-up scroll between his teeth.
âDanke.â Caleb, taking the scroll, nodded at the cat, which meowed again before turning tail and vanishing into the walls. âNow, might I ask what this is for?â He extended the map towards Essek, joining him at the table.
He took it before responding, âSomaticsâ â look here.â Essek opened the scroll next to where their spellbooks lay, pointing to a cluster of stars and tracing the outline of a dodecahedron. âAs Iâve explained, the Luxon beacons are theorized to be parts of a greater being, and dunamantic magic, weâve found, follows that in a way. This constellation,â he tapped the scroll, âis also reflected in the fortuneâs favor somatics.
âThatâs just an example, but in essence, the vast majority of dunamantic spells that contain somatic components, contain, within them, constellations.â Essek paused, pulling his hands from the map to gesture. âNow, thatâs not to say all spells contain them, but the most powerful contain multiple, which begs consideration that the few that donât seem to contain any in actuality contain unrecognized constellations, from a time other than ours. Some other shaping of the sky, perhaps some other world where the beacons are pyramids or cubes rather than dodecahedrons.â He exhaled, remembering to take a breath as he met Calebâs gaze, a mix of curiosity and something Essek couldnât quite place his finger on in his eyes. The other wizardâs lips quirked up into half a grin as he gestured for Essek to continue.
âNow, as for the spell in question.â Essek pointed to another star cluster, tracing another shape into the sky. âThis constellation is the Obelisk, the story I was told as a child was that once a monument was built so tall that it crumbled under its own weight. There were more details, but it has been many years since I heard the story.â He paused briefly searching for anything further, but nothing came to mind. âIn any case, you are almost exact in your work, but if you bring your lines slightly out and farther into the shape of an obelisk, the spell should take stronger hold.â He looked again to Caleb as he finished his explanation.
âThat is fascinating,â Caleb exhaled, taking his chin in his hand as he looked between the map and his own notes, âtruly I am very grateful, and I do miss working on spellwork with someone as accomplished as yourself.â
Essek took a breath, suppressing a rising blush as he took his spellbook from the table and pushed his face back into what hopefully was a cool expression. âI can say the same of you, it is not so bad to work with someone again, even if it is not very much.â
âWell,â Caleb brushed a stray hair out of his face, a gesture Essek was glad for or he may not have been able to resist doing it himself, âI would be glad to do magic any time, Essek.â
Essek swallowed his heart down as it jumped into his throat at his name on Calebâs lips, and muttered his agreement far too eagerly than he intended, quickly finding a way to return to his book so he could hide his blush behind the pages.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Critical Role (Web Series)
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Essek Thelyss & Caleb Widogast, Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast
Characters: Essek Thelyss, Caleb Widogast
Series: Part 2 of Essek Week 2021
the day two prompt for essek week was hiding // venom which i did mostly do but i dont control what happens when i write. in any case another thanks to @essek-week for putting this all together
feel free to read on ao3 or here!
Essek really was not adjusted to adventuring. The Aeorian ruins had revealed yet another secret in the form of fungus. There was the deadly frigid woe that had kept him especially wary of any spore-adjacent things to begin with, then the heat-seeking mold, and now this. He felt his pulse pound in his head and winced, taking a breath and peeling his eyes open.
His vision was blurry and his muscles ached, but he had enough of his wits about him and enough sight to check and recheck any visible veins, making sure for the last time it wasnât frigid woe.Â
It wasnât, but he almost wished it was, at least then perhaps Caduceus or Jester could find some direction to cure whatever ailed him. He knew it was spore relatedâ â he remembered them coming across a strange cavern, covered half in ice but even the cold couldnât kill the strange mushrooms covering most of the remaining space. They had carefully been making a path avoiding the mushrooms as much as they could based on a hunch Caduceus had about what they were. He didnât quite know what happened but somehow a cloud of spores had been released, and the next thing he knew was the Mighty Nein quickly crowding around him and pulling him into a tower of some sort.
Essek, now that the initial delirium seemed to have abated, expected that the tower was of Calebâs conjuring. He just wished he could properly appreciate it and look for all the careful details the other wizard had likely put in, rather than being stuck in the room of dark purples and silver accents he couldnât fully process.
âEssek?â He opened his eyes, not realizing they had closed again. He shifted, trying to turn towards the voice but only succeeding in hissing through his teeth as pain shot up his neck. âNein, ah scheisse, be careful-â Piercing blue eyes met his own and he felt what he recognized as Calebâs hand on his forearm. âWe have a solution, potentially, but it will have to wait until the morning. I-â he paused, looking away and furrowing his brow as he massaged his face with his other hand, seemingly searching for words. âI will stay here. To keep watch on your condition. Jester and Caduceus need rest, and so does everyone else.â
Essek tried to respond, but violent coughs erupted from his throat, yanking him into a sitting position that pulled at his muscles. Caleb was silent but as the fit faded, he pressed a warm cup into Essekâs hands, equally warm fingers briefly brushing his and leaving a faint tingling sensation in their wake.
âCaduceus made this before he went to rest, he said itâs an old family cure.â
Essek carefully sipped at it, sighing as what was presumably tea soothed his throat. He met Calebâs eyes. They seemed to be the only thing his vision could catch on without blurring.
âCaleb-â Essek cleared his throat, but only managed to set off another coughing fit.
âShh, donât stress yourself, friend.â Caleb let Essek take another sip before squeezing his forearm and gently taking the cup from his hands, quietly setting it on what must have been a bedside table. âJust try to rest, Iâll be right here.â Their eyes met again, and Essek thought he managed to nod but whatever pain the movement caused was numbed as the air hummed between them.
Caleb looked away, moving behind him before gesturing for Essek to lie down. He found himself almost sitting, pillows piled up behind him.
âMy mother taught me this trick when I got sick as a child,â Caleb mumbled almost to himself as he pulled a chair closer to the bed and sat down, pulling a book off the bedside table into his lap. âShe said it was good for the lungs. I never really figured out if that was true butâŚâ the other wizard trailed off, pursing his lips before opening the book he had grabbed. âIn any case, I am just going to read, but I am here if you need me.â
As Caleb fell silent, Essek couldnât help the ache that gripped his chest, knowing that it had nothing to do with whatever sickness the spores were causing.
It was his guilt at every problem he had caused the Mighty Nein, so ready to call him friend when he had already betrayed them. It was the fact that he was causing yet another problem, holding them up in their venture to stop this thing that could very well end the known world. It was the sleep and rest Caleb clearly needed that Essek was taking from him. It was the way Calebâs hair caught the light and the unnatural warmth of his skin that left Essek chilled after his touch, the way that his reverse figuring of a spell he had only seen Essek do had made his heart catch in his throat before he could register the threat using it in the Empire posed.
It was some time and most of the tea later when Essek felt he could finally speak again. He felt his heart twang again, looking with clearer vision at Calebâs focus on his book. He couldnât see well enough to get the bookâs title, but he could tell that this was a moment of relaxation Caleb desperately needed, even if the tense set of his shoulders made it clear that he was far from relaxed.
âCaleb,â the wizard looked up, eyebrows raised inquisitively. âThank you. For staying. I appreciate it, greatly.â Essekâs voice was hoarse, but he found it better than silence filled with only his thoughts.Â
Caleb smiled softly, âYou are part of the Mighty Nein, it is what we do.â
It was silent again, the air only filled with the quiet turn of pages.
âYou know,â Essek huffed softly, not quite sure if the delirium had truly left him as he continued, âyou once said I was not born with venom in my veins, but I certainly have put it there.â
âEssek-â
âI betrayed you before I even knew you, and now you sit at my sickbed while I am holding you up from what is quite possibly the most important thing any of us have ever done. I am trying to change, I am, but it feels as if the time I have to do so is slipping through my fingers. My own actions made me run from Rosohna and put me here, sick with some plantâs venom. And my own.â He kept his eyes down, only half sure Caleb was hearing words and not sickness-addled nonsense.
âEssek,â and there was Calebâs hand at his forearm again, pulling a sharp inhale of surprise as Essekâs eyes jumped to meet his. âYou have time, my friend, and you are not alone in this.â Essek watched as Calebâs gaze left his, eyes seeming to search the air for the words he was looking for. âWe- I am here with you. I will always be here with you and trust me, I know, change is not instant. I know you are trying, Essek, and I see what I have seen in myself.â Calebâs hand found Esseksâ cheek, and Essek realized he was looking up into his eyes, though he hadnât noticed when the wizard had stood up. âYou have time, I promise.â Caleb pressed a kiss to Essekâs forehead, and Essek felt his breath hitch again. âBesides, you inhaled those spores, so itâs not venom, itâs poison.â
Essek let himself grin as his eyes fell closed again, âYouâre ruining my metaphor, Widogast.â
âAlright, Thelyss, but you and your metaphor need rest.â Essek could hear the smile in Calebâs voice, letting it soothe the tugging at his heart, if only for now.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Critical Role (Web Series)
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Characters: Essek Thelyss, Caleb Widogast, The Mighty Nein
Series: Part 1 of Essek Week 2021
iâm doing essek week this year! iâve never actually dont stuff like this before but i thought iâd give it a go. in any case thanks to @essek-week for putting this together!
you can read on ao3 or here, but this is for the day one prompt which was whiskey // battle
Battle was not Essekâs forte, as he had found out through the past few days travelling with the Mighty Nein. First it had been the frost giants, where he had barely been able to haste Yasha, then whatever the strange beast following that had been. For that he had only managed to gather his wits enough to slow the creature before it too was decimated by his friends, who were admittedly far more organized in combat than he had originally given them credit for. The next creature, some sort of worm centipede thing that had made Essek want to be sick, hadnât even been around long enough for him to do anything.
And now they were wiping its guts off themselves and marching forward. He had made the mistake of going first, offering his eyes as they were better in the dark of Aeorâs halls. It was not untrue, but he was only marginally calmed by Fjordâs quiet presence at his side. If there was any comfort it was Caleb behind him, keen blue eyes matching that mind of his. Neither of which Essek was thinking about, of course, as he was meant to be looking for any further creatures or hints as to where they should be going or traps.
And it was for entirely unrelated reasons, perhaps something in the air had gotten in his eye, that Essek heard Fjordâs warning yell before he saw the five crystalline creatures that had pulled away from the shadowed walls in front of them. They glowed a sharp white-blue, drawing a hiss from his lips as he squinted against them, only realizing the threat they posed as the air chilled and the frost burned at the tips of his ears.Â
Yashaâs battle cry washed over him and as Vethâs arrows and the vibrant green of Fjordâs magic pelted the creatures, Essek shook the cold off, collecting his wits.Â
One breath in, one breath out.Â
Drawing the familiar geometry into the air with resistant fingers.
A small grin as practised words fell off his tongue and he felt the spell coalesce in his hands, the air trembling ever so slightly around him as he pushed it towards the creatures, releasing it from his grasp the moment they were all encased.
He watched the spell form, a sphere of shadow expanding outward, just translucent enough to watch as they were pulled together, a jumbled tangle of ice spines and briefly dimming light stilling just for a second before the spell dissipated into the air, two of the creatures falling to the ground and shattering, shards of ice skittering across the floor.
Essek stepped back, and his focus left him as he realized heâd dropped the spell that held him above the ground, his balance almost failing before he backed himself against a wall and out of the way of the rest of the Nein.
He exhaled, watching Beau and Yasha rush forward grinning at each other as more spells flew through the air. He carefully traced haste into the air, clutching the spell before pushing it onto Beau. He let himself grin again, the blood seeming to rush back into the tips of his fingers and ears as a well-placed firebolt from Caleb shattered the last creature.
The rush of battle had faded quickly, and after asking the time from Caleb the group had decided to set up camp. Caleb had brought up his dome, which Essek realized he had come to appreciate far more than anticipated as most of the Nein hunkered down for the night. He had taken first watch, attempting to make up for earlier, and Caleb had joined him, though he hadnât met Essekâs gaze when he volunteered.
Not that Essek had noticed, of course. He had already been keeping lookout, and wasnât hoping Caleb would look at him the way he had when they had been working on spellwork together again. In fact, he hadnât been thinking about Caleb at all, he was simply very focused on keeping watch.
âYou know, Essek, you will have to show me if there is anything I missed when I was working that spell out sometime.â His name in Calebâs accent sent a shiver up Essekâs spine, knocking any thought from his head except the fact that Caleb had acknowledged him and was talking about spells again.
âIâm sorry?â Essek turned to face Caleb, his response barely stammering out of his mouth.
âI only mean that I would like to see if I was wrong about any of it, I worked it out just from the other time I saw it used by you.â Calebâs eyes gleamed in the dim, his eyebrows lifted inquiringly.
âI- of course, I can show it to you when we are more secure than,â Essek gestured to the dome around them, âthis.â He had never been more thankful that humans couldnât see in the dark and Caleb was using Frumpkin intermittently to see, otherwise the other wizard would have seen the blush that had surely crept into his cheeks.
âOf course.â Caleb paused, and Essek tried not to be too eager for him to continue. âWell, in any case, I am glad to see you adjusting better to battle, my friend.â
Essek blinked, hoping Caleb couldnât hear his heart beating out of his chest as it caught on his words, and he barely managed to mumble his gratitude before wincing into the dark of the night. If only he was better at adjusting to being with friends. Especially very attractive and smart friends that he was definitely, absolutely not letting his mind drift towards for the remainder of his watch.
Well folks, itâs that time of the year again! Itâs been a year since our last Essek Week, and itâs about time we gave it another go!
Essek Week 2021 will begin on Sunday, April 4th, 2021, and will conclude on Saturday, April 10, 2021!Â
Sunday, April 4th, will also be the second anniversary of our beloved Hot Boiâs first appearance!
The prompts, as they were last year, are extremely flexible, and open to whatever interpretation you like! For those who are participating, make sure you tag us here @essek-week so we can reblog it!
Prompt list:Â
Sunday, April 4th, Day One:Â whiskey // battle
Monday, April 5th, Day Two:Â hiding // venom
Tuesday, April 6th, Day Three:Â stars // adventure
Wednesday, April 7th, Day Four:Â guilt // family
Thursday, April 8th, Day Five:Â breathe // eye contact
this is eventually going to be a larger project but for now this is some character backstory for two of the dnd characters im currently playing! for some frame of reference zoril is a tiefling eventual warlock of the fiend (his patron is a plotpoint that hasnât come up yet in what iâve written bu o do know who it is) and ildien is a fallen aasimar shadow sorcerer and yes the âloreâ gets a bit weird but theyâre both for one shots its about fun not accuracy
anyway both of these are on the longer end and the format is a bit weird so im putting the first section of each character above the cut, but theyâre separate in their (almost) entirety below the cut
-
Zoril was never a truly quiet childâ he was never going to be anything else. In a different life, a different time, perhaps. But in this one, his life was chosen first by his mother when she left him to be raised alone by his father.
It was no fault of hers, really. It can be difficult to co-parent a child when the other parent in question is one of the kings of the nine hells.
But this is not a tale of unlikely parents. It is of unlikely children. And first, is Zoril.
Zoril was raised bouncing between the hells, never staying particularly long in one before he was passed to the next, although his time in his fatherâs domain was always the longest. The other rulers didnât quite understand why the tiefling child was left to live very long, much less run amok among the denizens of the underworld.
~
Ildien had often wondered why his parents had left him. Many would have been grateful to have the celestials near. He often came to the conclusion that he had never looked precisely good-bringing. He had never really looked precisely human, as far as he could remember. Not that he was, but he had heard of others like him who could blend in with ease.
He had been told by those that had raised him that his parents had come to the church stammering and clutching at themselves like madness had overtaken them, muttering strange things about their child. The church Elder had asked to see the child, only for it to be thrown into her arms as the couple backed away and never returned.
Of course Ildien was only told this when the Elder had died.
Zoril was never a truly quiet childâ he was never going to be anything else. In a different life, a different time, perhaps. But in this one, his life was chosen first by his mother when she left him to be raised alone by his father.
It was no fault of hers, really. It can be difficult to co-parent a child when the other parent in question is one of the kings of the nine hells.
But this is not a tale of unlikely parents. It is of unlikely children. And first, is Zoril.
Zoril was raised bouncing between the hells, never staying particularly long in one before he was passed to the next, although his time in his fatherâs domain was always the longest. The other rulers didnât quite understand why the tiefling child was left to live very long, much less run amok among the denizens of the underworld.
But Zorilâs father had his reasons. Zoril hoped this was the case, anyway. His father was the only one who never seemed to, at least overtly, cast him away. And so, despite bouncing between others, he was always Zoril, Prince of the Hells and Heir to Mephistophelesâ throne, should he ever leave it.
He had his tutors in the form of the souls who had made bargains with his father, though they always seemed to be removed whenever they attempted to reveal any regrets they may have had about the deals they made. He made friends with the passing imps and quasits, coercing devils into joining his games.Â
But there were also the lessons of his father, beginning as Zoril grew into his horns. Lessons taught within the palace walls. Never to perform a task without proper payment, to always know when respect and treachery are due. To know that even though his mother had given Zoril fire when he lived in a realm of ice and his nature was freer than the strict hierarchies of the hells, he was a Prince of Cania, that he was owed his rights to the world. But also to know that these rights must, at times, come second to the end goals of ambition.
And as Zoril continued to grow into these lessons and his adolescence, he was allowed and encouraged to begin to venture into the material planes, however he could. To witness the mortal lifespan he was left with, and the mortal souls he may one day be able to take.
His time on the surface was yet another teacher. Of want and desire by those who were raised with mortality. Of the passion it brings. As well as how to remain in the shadows, and when to leave them. How to grow close to another and leave them behind, desperate and ready to make a bargain.
But many of these required quiet, and as he grew taller into adulthood, Zoril found that endless energy again boiling underneath his skin, tired of being taught.
And so he found what he considered the second-best thing mortals had ever dreamed up: brawling.
He was always faster than he was strong, charming more often than fighting, but he could never argue against an adrenaline rush.
His trips into the material plane began bringing him more scars than potential souls for the devils of his home, and as he marched, smiling, into the palace of Cania, Mephistopheles had laughed, a great deep thing, gesturing with one clawed hand toward serving devils. And so his weapons training finally began.
It was not too many years after this that he was one of the top fighters at a ring he had come to frequent. Despite its allowance of magic, Zoril had taken to maces and flails rather than learning spells, letting the illusion of strength and slowness keep his opponents surprised.
It was a night like any other at first. He had been on a roll, undefeated for a week. But the whispers around the room as he readied himself spoke of a newcomer, some challenger from out of town, apparently desperate to fight someone who could pose a threat.
He wanted to laugh as he checked the leather grip of his favoured weapon. Instead, he volunteered to be the one to graciously defeat whoever this mysterious newcomer was. Then he laughed, joining the others around him as another fighter clapped his back and Zoril stepped into the ring.
If he had any less composure he was sure the newcomer wouldâve knocked the grin right off his face as his laughter trailed off and he swung his flail up over his shoulder, barely thinking enough to not himself.Â
They were tall, towering even over the elaborate spines and curls that Zorilâs horns had grown into. Long dark hair tumbled onto pale purple-grey shoulders that sloped gently up into a set face and bright-burning purple eyes. Elaborate red acolyteâs robes draped over their frame, giving away their origins.
At least to anyone watchingâ Zoril himself was utterly lost in the newcomer, looking them up and down, barely catching himself as a wave of fire was hurled in his direction.
---
Ildien had often wondered why his parents had left him. Many would have been grateful to have the celestials near. He often came to the conclusion that he had never looked precisely good-bringing. He had never really looked precisely human, as far as he could remember. Not that he was, but he had heard of others like him who could blend in with ease.
He had been told by those that had raised him that his parents had come to the church stammering and clutching at themselves like madness had overtaken them, muttering strange things about their child. The church Elder had asked to see the child, only for it to be thrown into her arms as the couple backed away and never returned.
Of course Ildien was only told this when the Elder had died.
He had been 12 at the time. Until then he had been told that the elder, Elder Calla, was his mother. Then another acolyte had snidely commented that he didnât have the right to mourn, after all, she wasnât even really related to him. He had been told the real story later that night.
It was not long after that when Ildienâs magic began to change. It had always been something they could do, it came naturally. But light grew to darkness, the blossoming healing abilities seemed to wither away as he began to drift farther from human, even away from the celestial blood in his veins.
It was then, too, that Hadrariel became as distant as the light that once surrounded him.
Until that point, Hadrariel has been a constant companion, whispering kind words and gentle guidances, a second parent. In young Ildienâs eyes, another liar.
Truly it was not Hadrarielâs faultâ though perhaps it was not Ildienâs either. It had been a long day, the day of Elder Callaâs funeral ceremonies. The loss was still sharp, and the leering gazes of older acolytes and unspoken words were constant needles, pressing into his skin. He had been the last to speak to the Elder, and was, therefore, the last to bid his farewell before the body was burned.Â
The memory of it was still a burning sear. The peace in the lifelessness of the corpse, another deception. The pitying eyes of her replacement. The ever-pressing gazes around him, narrowed eyes and silent laughter. And then the faint weight of Hadrarielâs gaze, an invisible hand on Ildienâs shoulder.
Shadows had lashed out of him, tipping the room into the grey of twilight, before the sudden pitch black of night as pain had ripped through him, tearing him to pieces.
Then as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. The shadow fled from the room, slinking back to the soles of Ildienâs feet as he gazed at the skeletal remains of his wings, on display of their own accord. The absence of the weight of their feathers echoed in the void left behind by Hadrarielâs flight and the strange stillness in his chest.
He had looked on, to Callaâs body.
It was the last time he cried.
The following years were longâ Ildien was yet an acolyte of the church of [], he had his duties and still lived within the church. But the laughter that may have turned to friendship instead turned to fear and quick glances. The new Elder was not kind as Calla had been. Ildien was labelled a bad omen, banned from certain ceremonies.
Most ceremonies aside from funerals, in fact. At these he was allowed, if only so no one else had to be near the corpse.
When not being put to the undesirable tasks, Ildien remained in his room, watching the torch fire make shadows dance across the wall as he read himself to restless sleep. Time seemed to pass slowly and quickly all at once, slipping through his fingers as he gazed on, indifferent.Â
He knew the church would release him once he was of age, no longer obligated to keep him as their ward. The only thing that had stopped them from throwing him out sooner was the new Elderâs idea of image.
But as he grew closer to this release from the church, it grew impossible to passively be feared. To allow the world to pass him by.
So rather than read himself to sleep watching the shadows, Ildien looked at what cast them, studying the flames licking at the air. He let his magic follow itâs new call into fire and shadow, falling in love with it. He let himself smile for the first time in years as fire danced across his shoulders as his feet moved in the rhythm of the shadows below him.
Ildien had not thought the new Elder, Varif, cared enough to pay him mind outside of when necessary, but when he was called to speak in front of him it was not long before the Elderâs intentions were revealed.
Varif had, in fact, been watching Ildien, and he had deemed worthy of the grand gesture the church needed to make to bring the community back into the fold.Â
Ildien only learned when the gesture was as it was happening. He was kept in a room away from his own, with only his shadows for company in the weeks leading up to the event.
 When the door to his chamber opened as his eyes adjusted, Ildien was pulled and shoved into flowing ceremonial garb layered with dust, a uniform he hadnât seen before. A scroll was pressed into his hands as he was pushed to an altar.
He remembered blinking the setting sunlight out of his eyes, looking to Elder Varif, grinning, and to a figure opposite him on the altar, decorated in the bones of an ox, eyes closed. The face of one of the newest acolytes in the shadow of the oxâs skull.
Ildien had looked down at the words on the scroll, the idea of this gesture clicking place in his head. He glanced once to the other acolyte, their eyes blearily opening, panic raising their eyebrows. He glanced to the Elder, grin settling into smug satisfaction.
He stepped towards the acolyte, putting them within arms reach, letting a smile of his own stretch across his face as he snatched the ox skull, planting it on his own head and swinging to face the Elder, outstretched arms coming together to hurl fire at the Varif.
It really was only meant to maim, for the most part. But as the Elderâs body hit the floor, the spark that had ignited his rebellion quieted, and there was an utter silence the same as Callaâs funeral.
He felt his heart beat once in his chest.
And he ran, the air on his face reigniting himâ a grin stretched across his face as he threw layers of the constraining upper garment off and let the flowing skirts fly in the wind as his feet pounded stone and dirt.
He ran through the city, taking unfamiliar turns, whooping as he clutched the stolen skull to his head, not even quite sure why he took it. He did mean to stop before he ran into any buildings, but he was looking over his shoulder as his feet carried him into a small, dimly lit tavern, tumbling through a swinging door on the back wall into a somehow much larger space.
He was only able to pull himself to a stop just before he would have slammed into a wall of muscle glowering up at him.
A blur of questions were asked, lies flowing quicker out of his mouth than he could think about what he was saying and the next second he stood in a ring with wooden walls and a packed sand floor, the most stunning tiefling he had ever seen standing across from him. Their skin was dark red like deep flame, pitch coloured horns reaching into the shadows above their head, a flail was swung over shoulders covered only by a light tunic, black sleeves billowing ever so slightly as Ildienâs eyes were drawn down to the tieflingâs cloven hooves and then back up to gleaming eyes and sharp fangs poking out of a rakish grin.
Ildien felt his breath rush out of him, fire leaping out of his fingertips, his instincts remembering that this was meant to be a fight seconds before he remembered he hadnât said he was here to gawk at the fighters, instead he had let himself lie that he wanted to be one of them.
Mourn for the child that I was and the person I could have been.
I remember when I was 11 and first thought that I would be better off if I didnât exist and I mourn no longer.
Instead I want to hold that child in my arms and whisper that it will get better and they will be okay and remind them they donât have to be so angry at the world. I want to take their hand and show them my room my hair the clothes that bring me the most joy. I want to tell them it passes and they get help I want to see them smile I want to tell them how proud I am.
I cannot mourn for myself, I am still here against all odds.
And I am so proud of the child I was and always will be.
I want to tell that 10 year old me that it is okay to cry and that they will not be lesser for it.
I want to tell the too-tired 12 year old that they are worth more than their understanding of math, that it is okay to be confused and ask for help.
I want to tell the 13 year old that there is so much left for them, that it will pass, that they are not alone. I want to hold them close and tell them about our name and the progress we make. I want to show them my favourite boots and tell them stories about our friends. I want to remind them how to laugh and tell them how wonderful their laugh is.
I want to look my 9 year old self in the eyes and tell them it is ok to be different and to take joy in it.Â
Look at my hair look at my clothes look at how many books we have.
I want to hold all these past iterations of me and hold them close and tell them I am so utterly proud of them.
So I cannot mourn. I remember and try as hard as I can to rejoice.Â
The library of Calebâs tower was quiet. The rest of the Nein was elsewhere, relaxing for the few hours respite they had.
They had only just gotten to the Vurmas outpost, but it had not taken much of Jesterâs convincing to find Essek and pull him into the tower. And it took far fewer words from Essek to keep anyone out of the room Caleb had set up in.
It felt somehow far away. Only an hour or two ago Essek had been staring down inane piles of paperwork, which granted he had done to himself by gently suggesting he required some time away from Rosohna in order to conduct research in peace and de-stress from uneasy peace, but it was almost worth it just for the sight of the Mighty Nein again.Â
Almost.Â
It was worth it though, to see Caleb again.Â
Even if it made a pit yawn open in his gut every time he thought about Caleb and what the other wizard thought of him, he was ever the sight for sore eyes. Especially eyes sore from paperwork.
It had taken an almost embarrassing amount of self-restraint to not leap from his desk and rush over to him, but thankfully Jester had reached Essek before he could have done anything, sweeping him into a surprisingly strong hug.
And upon entering the tower he couldnât help but be struck by the beauty. All of it so stunning, a reflection of what he had always seen behind Calebâs eyes.Â
But now it was just him and Caleb in the library. Caleb had apologized for any lack of reading material, as it was only what he had memorized, but it was astonishing nonetheless. It is impressive enough how accomplished Caleb is in the world of the arcane, it is even more so knowing how much information he has continued to retain outside of it. It made Essekâs heart swell in the way only sharing joy can.
But for now, he was simply reading a book, curled in a chair, with Caleb in a similar position in the chair beside him. In all truth he was not paying particular attention to the book. It was fascinating, of course, it was all transfiguration theory, but as a graviturgist he was far more fascinated by the very close and very pretty transfiguration wizard.
Of course he wasnât staring, but it was hard not to glance sideways at Caleb, eyes roving between him and the book. There would not have been a problem with this had Essek not been entirely preoccupied with far too much on his plate and not had enough time to maintain himself and by doing so make sure his hair was how he liked it and it had grown far too long in his personal opinionâ â
âDo you want something to tie your hair back, Essek? Iâ it looks, in a way, like your hair is getting long enough to interrupt your reading.â Essek started at the sound of Calebâs voice, low and cautious in his offer. âForgive me if I sound rude, it is simply an observation.â
âIâ ââ His voice seemed to dry up in his throat as he tried to think of a reason to say no other than the fact that Caleb even having noticed his appearance made his heart pound uncomfortably loud in his ears. âYes, I suppose you are right, and I would certainly not mind it. Something to pull my hair back, that is, although I donât know if it is long enough to be able to be tied like yours is.â And he was rambling and mentioning that he had also noticed the appearance of his companion. Perhaps he was as stressed as he had pretended to be to get out of Rosohna.
Caleb gave a small smile, exhaling slightly as he set his book to the side and pulled a piece of cord out of his coat before turning again to Essek. âDo you mind?â Essek blinked, furrowing his brow at the question. âIt will probably be easier if I do it for you if it being too short is a concern.â
âAh,â Essek hoped desperately that the heat he felt rushing to his face was not as visible as it felt. âNo, I donât mind at all, hereâ ââ He set his own book down and sat up. âIs this better?â
Caleb nodded, standing and moving over to Essek. He stood for a moment, looking down at him, something unfamiliar in his gaze. âPerhapsâ â Could you look down slightly?â His voice was gentle, the way it sounded when he was figuring something out, turning it in his mind.
âOf course.â Essek bent his head, and almost went into shock from the feeling of the other wizardâs hands in his hair. For as rough as they had looked they were gentle, carefully pulling his hair into place.
The space between them is so small in the quiet moment as Essek desperately hoped that no one else would walk in and, in a much smaller and hidden part of his heart, that Caleb was not simply doing this as an aid to a friend. That would beâ â unfortunate. He tried not to audibly sigh at the possibility, instead focusing again on the warm sensation of Calebâs hands in his hair.
âCould you look up for me, please? I want to make sure I got everything.â Again, that gentle voice of Calebâs making his heart swell in his chest as he carefully tilted his head back up to look at Caleb.
The world seemed, for a moment, almost to freeze as if under the influence of magic rather than simply Essek being frozen by Calebâs gaze, his lips parting slightly despite all intention.
Essek almost surprised himself when he broke the silence.
âCan I kiss you?â
Caleb blinked, red rising in his cheeks as look away before again meeting Essekâs eyes.Â
Cold. That was what they knew. Then darkness, and, slowly, the grey light of a heavy fog. Strangely hollow in a hanging silence. Then the low wind, and the sensation of swaying.
Darkness again, blinking in and out.
Blinking. Thatâs what it was called.
Their thoughts felt slow, something yet missing from them. Some feeling that they couldnât quite place. A strange otherness about themselves as through steadily clearing sight their surroundings began to take form.
That heavy fogâ yes, they knew that. Narrow trees shooting up around them, erupting suddenly from a strangely distant powder white snow. An unfamiliar streak of slick black on a tree near them, an unfamiliar smell, bitter against barely awake senses, an unfamiliar sensation pulling at their skin, something coming from behind them the shadow looming on the ground below.
The wind whistled as a dark mass fell silently past them.
The world shook as the sound of metallic scraping rang through the air.
The world slowed again.Â
The legs of the mass below curled inwards. Five, uneven limbs. Places where there should be more missing.
Thereâ searching eyes find one, then two, and three unattached limbs.
Eight legs.
Spiderâ again, slow, but remembering more.
Remembering the feel of web on skin.
That was the sensation. Web on skin and pain in every inch of them and memories flooding back and screaming and loss
And the sound of metal ringing again through the air.
this is another expansion of some of the myths/legends im building for a world im working on and there is a small reference to another part and if you want to you can read it here. as a note, and i said this in the last part i posted, all the gods are nonbinary and so is the other major entity in this story,
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The fall was unusual. Strange in many ways.
Of course, fall is hardly the word to use for it, as it is to do with the language of magic and time, which I assume are unfamiliar to the listener. To describe the true nature of what this particular fall is like, I will have to use far more words than you or I would like, which I do hope you forgive me for.
Falling for creatures such as I will tell you of is not like falling form a high place of the feeling at the pit of your stomach when worst comes to worst. It is like the slow progression of winter and age, the feeling taking hold in your bones before it shows on your skin. It is the feeling of giving in and letting the wind push you from your path. It is akin to forgetting, looking at familiar hands and wondering if they are truly alone.
But I am getting ahead of myself. I havenât even told you who has fallen. Forgive me, dear listener, it has been long since I told this tale. In truth, I suppose I have been putting off telling myself.
This all aside, our story concerns Minaan, god and keeper of chaos, the trickster, and why they remain Below, rather than watching from Above as they did in the days of old.
The world was young yet, though the oldest stones and trees would tell you of an age if you had lent an ear.
Minaan had made their fun amongst the gods, delightful laughter becoming thunder as they skipped from Above down to earth leaving lightning in their wake as their victims raged that they had been tricked yet again.
But gods are proud creatures, as I am sure you know, and will only suffer so much before they turn wrathful.
And Juval and Yahnalan, keepers of life and craftsmanship, common victims of Minaanâs trickery, had reached a breaking point. They began plotting, and it was not long before they set about their plan.
For all Odonaâs joy, she was ever grieving her inability to stop Helad from chasing Aankeen down from Above. Knowing this, Juval and Yahnalan toiled many days and many nights, creating a gift to ease her grief. Even when this gift was done, they waited yet until Minaanâs gaze again gleamed with mischief from the shadows of Yahnalanâs forge.
So it was with Minaan at their heels that they presented Odona the gift on the bank of a great river. Minaan watched from behind the clouds above, waiting for the perfect moment to step in as Juval and Yahnalan revealed the first willow tree, branches brushing the waterâs surface so that Aankeen could climb up from Below to meet her lover.
Odona loved it so deeply that she wept, and as her tears fell upon the bark, the leaves of the tree rustled and from the highest branches, a figure peered.
He smiled down upon the gods below with glittering eyes, Juvalâs addition to the gift revealed. He was Nianthiul, the first and king of the Fae. And Minaan was so struck by his beauty that they fell out of the cloud they were hidden in.
Nianthiul, startled, dove into the river below as Minaan fell. This is not the falling of which I spoke before, of course, but I am getting distracted.Â
Nianthiul swam far down the river as Minaan became tangled in the branches of the willow. Much to the delight of Juval and Yahnalan, Minaan quickly freed themself and dove after Nianthiul. At long last, Minaan was chasing rather than being chased.
The river was so great that Minaan chased Nianthiul through the end of spring, and all through summer and fall. Nianthiul as each season changed paused, and along the river and in the trees and forests beside it built the foundations of the great fae courts to mark his passage, breathing life into the clay of the riverbanks and bringing forth the growing number of the fae. And at each pause, Minaan got slowly closer. But as winter began to seep into the great river and the waters began to freeze, Nianthiul slowed, and Minaan again gained ground, catching up at long last.
Nianthiul was struck by Minaanâs determination, and, curious, paused, climbing back onto the bank of the great river. Minaan soon climbed out after them, only for Nianthiul to laugh.
âYou have chased me all this time and have not said a word to meâ â why do you follow so closely?â said Nianthiul the bright-eyed. âI am yet new to this world, all I have known is this river thanks to you.â
Minaan, with the practised ease of a god, bowed and replied, âI only follow so that I may see such beauty as yours up close; I am Minaan, Lord of Chaos, and it is not often that one keeps my attention for so long.â
âWell then, Lord of Chaos,â Nianthiul proclaimed, âif I hold your attention so closely, when you cause such a stir that myself and my people yet again are so surprised as I was, perhaps I will leave my throne to another and take a place by your side. But not until then, dear Minaan.â And with that, Nianthiul dove yet again beneath the surface of the great river, disappearing before Minaanâs eyes as the river froze.
But Minaan grinned, challenge a thrill racing through the godâs bones as they dashed to Below, searching for the roots of the courts of the fae and for Nianthiul. They yet race through the sky and Above, thunder and lightning in their wake as they enrage the gods, much to Juval and Yahnalanâs disappointment. But to anyone with bright, keen eyes, Minaan is always distracted, ever plotting a surprise for the Fae King.
As for Nianthiul, it is his fall I discuss. For he has reigned long over the immortal Fae, travelling between the courts of the seasons so as to keep Minaan chasing at his heels. And after many long centuries, he has felt the cold of winter strong in his bones, not a comforting hiding place, but a reminder of his word. For truly, he realized that while he loved his people and his throne, he longed for the mirth and delight of Minaan to be at his side. But Fae are bound to their wordâ â and it is not until Minaan again catches Nianthiul off-guard that the pair will be allowed to remain together.
It is not uncommon, now, that the bright-eyed king will again travel through that great river, waiting for Minaan to see him, be they Above or Below. It has been many years since they parted there, and Nianthiul knows that they cannot be caught there. He simply enjoys the thrill of the chase, watching as the lightning of Minaan barrels down from Above, or the ground drops and a waterfall is created as they reach up from Below, even as the long solitude lingers in his bones.
And so Nianthiul is the reason Minaan resides Below when they are not making victims of the gods of Above, why lightning strikes the water and tall trees, why waterfalls form. But Minaan is not the one who fell, dear listener. I am afraid that you have already grasped my meaning, one which I have long tried to avoid.Â
Nianthiul is the one who has fallen, and the reason one is said to fall in loveâ â but that is a tale for another time. I can hear thunder in the distance, and I hear there is a river particularly nice for travel this time of year.
ok so iâm dming a small party in dnd and i homebrewed my world which then led me to homebrewing a pantheon and im still working out a lot of it but this is a small section of some of the stories of the gods. also as a note all the gods are nonbinary, and the ideas were inspired by an ask from @definitely-darcy on my main @clockworkfall
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This is a story from long before the Time of Return, before the Iron Wars, before the Age of Odona. This tale is of the days of the Wild, when the gods were new and mortals had just begun to roam. When the divide between divinity and the common folk of the world was far smaller than it is now, and the gods yet walked Aria, serving creation and destruction.
It was not long after Balan had created Above and Below, homes for the gods away from the material plane and the realm of mortals, that our tale takes place. It concerns Lian, keeper of knowledge and passion, and the youngest of the gods, Aankeen, teacher of magic.
Lian was young yet, looking down from Above. They had only just gifted language to mortals, both in common and secret tongues. It had been an experiment, and they had watched as the peoples beneath them both unified and divided over words. They laughed, in a gentle way, at the complications of mortal lives. Mortals had so little time, yet burned so bright. Some, however, have burned brighter in the eyes of the gods.
Aankeen had not caught the attention of many, but they soon had the eye of Lian. As words had begun bubbling from them, Aankeen had sought to learn every language that had been gifted to the mortals. As time passed, even with all the words of the world at their fingertips, it was not enough. They began to seek the language of trees and of the wind, and on learning these, the languages of all the creatures of Aria. Even this was not enough, and as Aankeen walked the lands searching for fresh things to learn, Lian came down from Above.
Lian had fallen for Aankeen, as deep as if pushed by Itran, the god of love. Aankeen, at first, was not ready for the eyes of divinity. But as time wore on with Lian refusing to leave their side, it was as if Itran had pulled the pair to each other.
Lian did their best to sate Aankeenâs hunger for knowledge, and Aankeen captivated Lian with fantastical ideas and strange trains of thought. Soon enough, Odona, keeper of nature and the moon, noticed the pair as she walked among the forests and rivers of the growing world. In secret, she aided Lian and Aankeen in their marriage, and as a show of her support, gifted Aankeen with the language of magic and, with the assistance of Lian, granted them divinity.
Soon after, the now married Lian and Aankeen moved to Aboveâ â Aankeen was utterly captivated with the home of the gods, and for a time, was satisfied to live and learn by their loverâs side. But as they looked down on what had once been their home, pity struck them; how was it that they of all mortals had captured the eyes of the gods, how was it fair of them to deprive mortals of such a gift as magic? Helad, god of order and balance, heard of this desire and demanded that the peoples of Aria remain without magic, for it would bring them too close to divinity.
And so it was in the black night of a new moon, when even Odona was turned from the world, that Aankeen crept out from Above and returned to Aria. Slowly, they began to walk the old paths through the woods, searching for their former people. But Helad was suspicious, and had not turned a blind eye.
Instead he swept down from Above, intent on destroying Aankeen for fear of them disturbing the balance of the world. He chased them across Aria, and as Aankeen ran, they passed through rosebushes. As the thorns pricked their skin, their blood dripped into the earth, sowing magic wherever Aankeen ran. As the sun began to rise and Helad came ever closer, Aankeen transformed into a rabbit, driving between the roots of a rowan tree and hiding in an abandoned burrow. As Helad passed them, Aankeen crept in rabbit form to Below, where they beseeched Uthoriel, god of death and caretaker of Below, to let them stay.Â
Uthoriel, in the kind fashion of a gentle death, allowed that they remain, so long as they told no one, at least for a time. And whenever any gods from Above should be in Below, Aankeen was to hide, at least for a time. It is said that even to this day, Lian and Aankeen can only meet under the new moon, when Odona has closed her eyes to the world and even the most suspicious can be deceived.
