dnd / fantasy. multi-muse - ocs.
em | she/they | 22 | EST | 20+ |
carrd
discord available to mutuals

DEAR READER
Sade Olutola

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Keni
Three Goblin Art
hello vonnie
Stranger Things

❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
occasionally subtle
Misplaced Lens Cap
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
almost home
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"
d e v o n

#extradirty
we're not kids anymore.
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
dirt enthusiast

Love Begins

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@arcanetrickstr
dnd / fantasy. multi-muse - ocs.
em | she/they | 22 | EST | 20+ |
carrd
discord available to mutuals

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starclub:
He felt uncomfortable at the wink, but this was alleviated somewhat by the knowledge that it likely wasn’t serious. Finn’s quickened breathing accompanied by his serious talk indicated some discomfort with the situation. He even wondered if the bartender thought that there was an unspoken threat, making him comply.
Essek raised an appeasing hand, speaking quieter should anyone unseen be listening.
“I hope I have not misconstrued my intentions,” he said, “To be clear, if this proposal would put you at risk, it is unnecessary. It is probably unwise for me to encourage the younger generation to make friends of strangers, regardless.”
The latter was added as a bit of humor to lighten the mood.
❛ no, no. i'm sorry - forgive my paranoia, it’s just been some time since someone has approached me, rather than the other way around, ❜ he admits, pursing his lips. his hands fall to his sides as he glances up at the drow. the man before him is too powerful to be asking him for help; what can finn offer ivellian that he could not find out in other ways? what use would someone have for someone so much weaker, if not to manipulate him, to mould him for his own use ?
he had never asked, before. the question lingered at the back of his mind as a child, but it was dampened by the food that sated his hunger, the money he had never seen as much of, and a sense of belonging. he’d been too young to recognize the venom the clasp fed him. had he asked, back then, the answer may not have been straightforward. lies fell out of his master’s mouth easily as rain from clouds.
this would be different.
❛ i would be happy to help, but what exactly do you want from me? ❜ he offers this — another test — hopes for something that would calm the storm of nerves within. he reconsiders his words. adds, after a moment: ❛ i just mean that i'm not sure what i can offer to someone as powerful as yourself. this isn't hesitation for lack of willingness. call it an abundance of caution. ❜
stardrow·:
Violett got up on her hind legs to meet the offered hand, leaning her head into the pet. The emotion behind Finn’s words seemed genuine. What was more, Violett liked him, and her track record about such things was flawless.
He suppressed the urge to chuckle at Finn’s statement. That concept was something he was actively struggling with.
“So I have been told,” he said, with some humor in his tone, “Finn, you may be wiser than some people in their hundreds that I know. How do you feel about the idea of a boisterous group of travelers coming to badger you with questions every now and again?”
He wasn’t certain he could trust Finn, but it was rare for him to be certain about anyone. The situation seemed stable enough to make him a contact, at least.
❛ promise they're all as friendly as you? ❜ finn winks, though his heart begins to race. he turns away, trying to slow his breathing. ivellian had shown no knowledge of, or affiliation with the clasp, but perhaps he’d been paid to pass information along. why else would he want to have finn in one place?
his palms feel slick as he grabs a mug and pours some tea, refusing to face ivellian in this moment of weakness. the man was clearly not from tal’dorei. he could well be disguised, but he had been nothing but friendly. he was handsome, too, which certainly didn’t help finn’s case. he’d fallen prey to beauty before. he turned back around with his most convincing smile.
he offered a compromise. bait. if ivellian backed out now, then it was likely a trick. if not, then finn would stay. ❛ i travel a fair amount myself, but i’m happy to help while we’re both in town. ❜
he met ivellian’s eyes, searching for answers to an unspoken question. ❛ in the longer term, we would need a way to contact each other without having a specific location... ❜ he hesitated. trust was always his downfall.
❛ i mentioned my past haunting me and i cannot risk my location getting into the wrong hands before i am ready. i hope you understand. ❜
confession: i hate bards. never played one. didn’t think i ever would.
but i’m re-working baz’s stats based on how i think he would be, and the ONLY class that makes sense is bard. so here we are, the gayest stereotype: a tiefling bard.
stardrow·:
Alright, it seemed like the place had genuinely treated him well. The suspicious part of him wondered if Finn was lying about that, trying to set Essek at ease about his surroundings in order to get him to put his guard down.
He shook his head, slightly, at the mention of ‘getting carried away’ to assure him his talking wasn’t unwelcome.
“In theory. This is Kaylin.”
Violett paused mid-grooming to look up at Essek with her best feline glare. Mentally, he sent an apologetic feeling to her. If he was using a false name, it was just as well to use one for her too.
“She is more or less my minder,” he continued, “Is there anyone you would like me to set her on? I take it there are those who made your past unpeaceful.”
❛ as powerful as she seems, ❜ he laughs, offering the cat his hand. she seems attached to ivellian, but friendly. ❛ i doubt she could take on those responsible for my past ❜
bitterness rises in his throat like bile; even he cannot face those responsible. he stares at the shadows dancing on the walls, cast by slowly dying candles, and imagines watching the life fade from nylan’s eyes. what satisfaction it would bring to deal the final blow.
he shakes his head. nylan may have been the one to recruit him, but the clasp formed him. the world burns, and the clasp profits. his hand shakes as he puts away another glass, and he sighs. remembering his place, he looks at the man before him—a customer— and smiles.
❛ besides, it’s better to leave the past behind you, y'know? ❜

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seeing matt crying made ME start crying AGAIN cr2 finale killed me but it's done
hi sorry for prolonged absence i will be back i swear
hi friends.
quick update: i will be inactive for about a week or so, so i can watch the CR2 finale at my own pace without spoilers.
mutuals can hmu on discord, just shoot me a message.
wldflwers:
THERE IS SOMETHING NOT QUITE TRUSTWORTHY ABOUT CIVILIZATION. how nice it is, to have a bed with four perfect legs and a headrest upon which to set your dreams. how nice it is, to sit dry beneath a roof –– to look up and to picture yourself sitting on the beams, legs dangling and feet dipping into the air like a cool pond. how nice it is, to lean over a bowl of hot food, to lift your eyes the way steam rises, and to see friendly faces smiling from across a weathered table. but comfort does not equate to trust, and trust is not the cornerstone of civilization. ( at any given point the walls may shake and tremble, tumbling to the ground and laying in grey ruins like stars falling from the sky. ) it is nice to be safe / to be held / to be together, but it is easier to be alone. so why does he remain among a company he can never quite accept, trailing behind as if hoping they will leave him so that he will not one day leave them? simple: the urge to run not stronger than the urge to stay –– to burrow / to hide / to build a grave and nestle among the moss and the loam. ( how nice it is, to be one that is part of many. )
caiaphas thinks because he cannot sleep –– or perhaps he cannot sleep because he chooses not to. ( sleep is a practice in death. staying awake is an assurance of life. ) sometimes he tries, attempting to run and jump at the moon as if lacing his fingers in its sands will grant him peace of mind. it never does. some people are destined to lie awake the way others are destined to fall in love. he stares at the ceiling, trapped in a blanket in a bed in a room in an inn. the ambience of slumber fills the air and so he listens, dark lashes blinking against dark shadows. at the very beginning of their journey, he did not hear their breathing. it meant nothing to him, sure as a dead gosling means nothing to a flock doves. now, he hears it –– can pinpoint what lungs belong to what body as if he has an ear pressed to every chest. ( at some point, you stop hearing with your ears and starting listening with your heart. ) bjorlamb breathes deep and true, like the earth from whence he came; celeste undaunting and excited, like a small flame flickering in a hearth; finn … he holds his own breath, ushering in silence and searching for a familiar sound. ( finn is not there. ) sometimes absence is the loudest sound of all.
this, as most things, does not strike him. it simply is, for better or worse, and so it is not this that rouses him from the embrace of warm blankets. caiaphas is driven by choices predicated on enigmatic needs. ( the answer to ‘why walk out on a conversation?’ is the same as the answer to ‘why get out of bed?’ –– because he feels like it / because the former action has served its purpose / because there is nothing left to learn from the current state. ) he leaves the bed unmade, the covers folded in on themselves and waiting at the foot of the cot –– discarded ropes that lurk, waiting to catch another tired victim in their snare. caiaphas leaves the room, quick and silent, and pauses only to grab the cloak he’d folded and laid down neatly on the floor. he throws it on as he descends the stairs, taking each step with the coordination of a frog hopping across lily-pads. the inn sleeps with its occupants the way mothers sleep with their children, one arm draped protectively across their slumbering forms. its walls are silent. he thinks if he touches them, he might hear the laughter and the chattering and the scraping of plates. reaching out, he skims pale fingertips along as he goes. the ground floor is a ghost town –– still, he looks intently into its corners, then at the door. the locks are old. ( they could probably divulge stories from ten years past like a grandfather telling tales to wide-eyed children. ) but old locks are loud locks, and noise before the first rooster caws is sacrilege. caiaphas chooses a window instead, fastened by wood rather than by lock and key. he lifts the slat and pushes the shutters outward. then, with all the grace and none of the flare of an acrobat, he climbs up / goes through / hops down on the other side. he shakes out his hair, glancing instinctively from side to side, and then settles cautiously onto the stoop. once there, he thinks. always thinks. the rain tries to wash the thoughts away, but all it can do is sit and wait. by the time finn finds him, the droplets have rallied around his head like an army accosting castle walls. caiaphas looks up as he’s spoken too, tired eyes impassive. if he’s surprised to see finn, he does not show it.
❛ couldn’t sleep, ❜ he says, matter-of-fact. admissions are a currency he rarely deals in, finding himself too light of pocket to afford the luxuries of vulnerability. every disclosure and every confession is like pulling out a coin, rubbing it against rough-hewn clothes for good luck, and pressing it into the open palms of another. ❛ you’re up, ❜ he repeats. mockery is not an intentional sin; caiaphas simply observes, reporting his findings the way an alchemist might dutifully note discoveries in an old, leather journal. he looks away from finn, blinking languidly against a horizon bleeding starlight from between gashes of gray clouds. the chill of the rain settles on the folds of his cloak, prying desperately for an entrance so it might nestle in his bones. ❛ the drowning man is not bothered by rain. ❜ a remark plainly uttered. he has a habit of speaking as if he knows things, even when he doesn’t. rain gathers on the bend of a curl, falls off, and lands on his cheek. he wrinkles his nose. ❛ rice isn’t bothered by rain, either. but if you want to grow cucumbers, sunshine is better. ❜
finn stares at caiaphas as he speaks in riddles. he’s an odd one, finn thinks fondly, as he approaches. he joins caiaphas on the stoop, takes note of the way the rain gathers in his curls, feels the lack of warmth between them. finn had noticed the way caiaphas leans away from contact; from people, in general. he wonders briefly what happened to make him shy away. he considers reaching out, briefly. but imagining caiaphas's reaction—a snarl waiting on his lips, barely there; panic in his eyes as he leans away; a violation of unspoken trust—stops him; imaginary rejection stings just the same.
the damp makes itself at home in his bones as he considers caiaphas’s words, and wonders who caiaphas thinks finn is. he has endured hardships; imagines the same is true of caiaphas, for who in this world hadn’t? pain seems as necessary as the rain itself; how else will one grow? he thinks of rice and of cucumbers: of the way a bowl of rice fills the stomach, of how cucumber could save a parched man.
he aches to inch closer, to figure him out—but holds himself back.
❛ are you? ❜ he asks, instead looking at the other’s bored gaze. ❛ bothered by the rain, i mean? ❜
hi sorry for inactivity—im behind on critical role and don’t want to see spoilers!!

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stardrow:
He smiled at the other putting on a presenter-y voice. He wondered how far the Gentlemen’s roots extended here, and how fast his people could reach them if they should run into trouble. He caught the slight pause from Finn as he looked down at Violett. Was he grasping for something that he thought might interest Essek, or was he wary of him? If the latter, that showed some intelligence. At the last statement, he chuckled.
“No, but we are not unappreciative,” he said, “We are just passing through on the way to visit some friends. So, I take it the townsfolk have not been so disliking of outsiders that it soured your opinion of them.”
❛ nah, they're alright, ❜ he smiles gently, thinking of loud laughter in candlelight. ❛ i've even made a few friends. ❜ there was a group of 20-something humans and a dwarf that came in every week. they would sit at the same table, order the same thing, and laugh all night. finn had served them all but two times before they invited him to join them in his time off. how could he resist their easy joy?
he breaks his own heart over and over; making friends, getting comfortable & then having to leave it all. it’s a dance he’s done too many times to count, but he’s never used to the ache in his chest when he walks away. for now, he can find comfort in the familiarity of a weekly routine. he can have a drink with friends, without worrying that he's endangering their lives by sitting with them. he picks up another stray mug,
❛ it’s peaceful here. i didn’t know if i would ever find that. ❜ he stares into the suds at the bottom of the glass, thinking of the lives he could have lived were circumstances changed. there is no point in getting caught up with things you cannot change, he knows. but he longs for something he cannot place; only knows it was lost when he was running away. ❛ i'm getting carried away. who’s the little one in your lap? he must really trust you. ❜
despite not having a ton to do for my one class this semester it's kind of kicking my ass, esp. paired with full time work
but regardless i have some drafts coming atcha this weekend!
which unpopular archetype are you?
finn!
the loyal
it’s a good thing you’re so patient. you know what it’s like to feel the full weight of doubt bearing down in you. for years, it tried to squeeze the life from your lungs. but nothing’s going to make you bow. you kept the candle’s flame alive. you whispered the names at nightfall. the vigil still lives inside of you. one day, the waiting will have been worth it. all your love is going to come home to you. you’re more important than you know. you’re still the one true believer. / / personality: calm, level-headed, stubborn / / counterpart: the accomplice
tagged by: @stardrow
tagging: @wldflwers (caiaphas and someone of ur choosing bb), @dreamhued
not me, writing and posting on the clock instead of doing my damn job
stardrow:
The young adult was instantly personable. It made sense why he’d been hired. Essek had smiled at the first statement, and had been about to respond when Violett put her front paws on his leg, causing him to look down. She gave him an insistent meow, wanting to be part of the conversation.
“Nothing to apologize for,” he said, with gentle amusement, “You can teach me how things are done around here. It is nice to meet you, Finn. I am Ivellian.”
He reached down as he spoke, picking up Violett so she could have a better vantage point from his lap.
“So, you have been working here for a while, then? How is the job suiting you?”
❛ well, ivellian ❜ he grins, putting on his best tour guide voice. he passes the steaming mug of tea across the counter and grabs his own cup of water. ❛ welcome to feolinn. the place is big on wine; most of our fruit comes from the plumgroves, not far from here. ❜
he pauses, considering the risks of speaking openly to this man. he looks wealthy, certainly. and there's a look in his eyes that finn can't quite place; like ivellian could be dangerous if he wanted to be. but the man before him now is gentle; finn's heart softens as he watches the drow stroke the cat in his lap, a soft smile playing at his lips as he does. he figures he’ll stick close to the truth; the most believable lies are those by omission.
❛ other than that, there doesn’t seem to be much. i haven’t been here very long, in all honesty, ❜ he shrugs. ❛ a few months, maybe, but it suits me just fine. lots of tourists, lots of tips. what brings you here? i take it you’re not here for the wine. ❜

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stardrow:
@arcanetrickstr
The world was saved, and as such, the Nein had made their way back from the Astral Sea. Now there was just the small matter of dealing with Trent Ikithon, but that could wait until they had rested. Or, until most of them had rested. Essek couldn’t sleep, or Trance. He was still filled with a twitchy, anxious energy.
Yielding to his nerves, he headed downstairs, Violett trotting after him. He and the bartender were the only two people awake. He ordered a non-alcoholic drink, trying to take in his Familiar’s aggressive purring. He thought conversation might help him calm down, but he didn’t want to wake the others. Well, if he was going to be paranoid, then he might as well get to work making himself feel more secure.
“Excuse me, sir,” he said, after turning to the young bartender, “Would you mind if I asked you a few questions about the area? My companions and I have never been here before, and we are feeling a little lost.”
finn sighs as he wipes down the bar for what he hopes is the last time tonight. everyone had cleared out shortly before, including his backup. it had been a fairly uneventful shift, but for one group of adventurers: they were loud and boisterous, half beaten to hell. finn had eyed the table all night, but hadn’t had the pleasure to serve them; a real tragedy given the tips they’d given. he collects the remaining tankards and glasses from the seating area, humming a low melody as he brings them to the back and hands them to the new kid who’d been stuck on kitchen duty. he emerges to find the drow from the adventuring party standing at the bar. he seems almost uncomfortable amongst the worn wood and flickering candles—definitely out of place with his fancy jewelry and luxurious fabrics. he's handsome, though. distractingly so. he holds himself with a practiced dignity as he orders “anything non-alcoholic.” finn hides a smirk as he fixes a tea and considers how powerful this man must be. he seems to be occupied with a cat that circles his feet—a familiar, finn thinks—before the man turns back to him, asking for information on the town, and calling him sir, of all things ❛ sir? ❜ he responds with a slight grin. he feels silly, being called sir next to this man who seems like a prince; all dignity and manners. ❛ awfully formal for a lowly bartender, don’t you think? ❜ the other man doesn’t respond, immediately, and finn considers that social customs are probably different wherever the drow is from—likely xhorhas, based on his attire—and quickly offers a gentle smile. he wonders, briefly, if this drow knows what power means, or if he was just born into it. ❛ sorry, just don’t get a lot of folks as distinguished as yourself around here. i’m finn. what do you want to know? ❜
@wldflwers: for caiaphas
finn listens to the quiet sounds of sleep around him; listens as his friends shift on their bed rolls, their breathing deep & even. he sighs & stretches his legs underneath his blanket, feeling the rough wool against his thighs. he looks over to the sleeping form of celeste. she seems so small, curled into herself in her sleep. he thinks of the adoring look on her eyes when he catches her gaze, the flush of her red cheeks when he smiles at her and sighs. she's so young; knows so little of the world. she believes in him so much it hurts. he doesn't know if he will ever be able to tell her what he’s done. he doesn't know if he could handle losing her trust.
he sighs and sits up slowly, tucking his knees to his chest, letting the blanket fall off him. he pushes himself up as quietly as possible on the creaky floorboards and pulls on his trousers. the rain calls to him. they’d been lucky to find this cabin on their route. as suspicious as it seemed, the day of travel had wiped them all out. they fell asleep to the sounds of thunder overhead. it was quieter, now, in the aftermath of the storm. he steps outside and inhales deeply, a weight lifted now that he’s away from the group.
the thought of leaving crosses his mind, briefly. they're drawing attention to themselves with all these jobs; a quarter of westruun was now a massive sinkhole because of them. sure, it was because they took out some horrifying magical bug nest, but the point stands. they made a mess and hadn't stuck around to see whose attention it brought. he just prays it wasn't the clasp's. he cannot get caught. still, the jobs they’re running were making him some high profile allies. the Lord and Lady of Whitestone were nothing to scoff at; their protection would be invaluable, if he could convince them to hear him out.
he wanders in the quiet of the night for some time, listening to the world at peace: trees rustling in the wind, puddles expanding as he watches. his skin is slick with water by the time he returns to the cabin. he shivers, pushing wet hair off his forehead. he pauses, then, noticing a form crouched on the stoop. he holds his breath, trying to make it out, but the rain obscures his vision worse than the dark. he crouches down amongst the tall grass, moving slowly until he can make out curls flattened by the rain. caiaphas.
❛ oh, ❜ he says, emerging gracelessly from the grass a few feet from the door. ❛ you're up. ❜