current icon art by dana-delion, sidebar image by kent davis, header by janedoe đ
prompts are always welcome, just know I canât guarantee a piece of writing!
*numbers between brackets indicates the session the fic takes place around. If there are no brackets, it takes place before or after the game or at an ambiguous point between sessions
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cihro: read it, thinks it's fine, prefers much trashier stuff that's local that he can dramatically read out loud to annoy his loved ones. the worse, the better
crow: refuses to read it and is very superior about that fact
cadiana: started reading it, was like 'I could put oskar in his place' cuz they prefer submissive men, then forgot to keep reading or found something more interesting to them
genevieve: not really interested because the characters feel a bit too young to her, she prefers romances in her age range, plus her name is too close to guinevere
iona: indifferent; doesn't care to read it cuz she mostly reads lesbian fiction
nepenthe: started reading it on the caravan ride to rexxentrum to get a better idea of what was culturally popular but got bored, plus they mention a cult with a spider symbol and she was like "excuse me?"
union: union is easily moved by a love story and lyrical prose so I think he liked it; I think it's a good book for bi folks so they can swoon over both love interests
vesuria: tried picking it up but got annoyed at oskar so stopped reading it cuz she was like "I'D treat guinevere like the lady she is, she even kisses girls!"
vierna: does not know it exists, but wouldn't bother with it if she did
Rexxentrum was the most populated city she'd been in by far. It was no surprise, then, when people accidentally checked her shoulder or barrelled into the back of her legs at a market.
She'd wound her way out of the Mudtop Ward for food from the Tangles. Just because she and Derval were staying there for anonymity's sake didn't mean they had to suffer the cheaper produce.
She turned, expecting a halfling or gnomeâshe was used to people her height or tallerâbut it was a human boy, shedding his baby fat and taking the first steps into something lean and fast. He was modestly dressed like most people in the Tangles, neither rich nor poor, growing up on a decent living.
She blinked. After he'd regained his balance he blinked back, eyes doubling in size, little lungs working.
"Sorry," he said belatedly.
"No trouble," she said.
"That's a big sword," he rushed out.
"As big as you and probably half as light," she said with a smile.
His eyes bulged bigger, twin spots of sun twinkling in them. "Half as light?"
"She's probably about five pounds, give or take; she's elven made."
"She?" he prodded. "Your sword's a girl?"
"Vidrinath."
"What does that mean?"
"It means 'lullaby' in my language."
"Oh! My mama sings those to me." His brow twisted in puzzlement. "What language is that? Why lullaby?"
Nepenthe opened and closed her mouth. This, she was less willing to explainâsoon he'd be old enough to train on a weapon. What that weapon was for the parents' or him to decide, be it one of farming the land, defending the city, an instrument for busking, or something she hadn't considered.
"Do you have a guardian nearby?" she asked instead. "Any friends you're out with?"
"Ruben!" A woman jogged over in answer, all attention trained on him. The motherâassuming so given they shared the same eyes and curly hairâgently took his arm. "Apologies, miss, he'sâ" She glanced up into Nepenthe's face under her hood and the words burnt up fast as dry brush, colour draining from her cheeks. Nepenthe raised an eyebrow.
"It's alright," she said. "Kids are learning how to take up space, aren't they?" She aimed another smile down at him. "Ruben's very curious."
"Come along," the woman whispered to her son, whisking him away, glancing askance at Nepenthe on the way for good measure.
"Bye," Ruben said, almost like a question.
Nepenthe frowned. Any sweetness from the interaction soured from the naked dislike. Mistrust she could accept, she nurtured a healthy amount for every stranger, and she understood wariness for someone armed to the teeth, but not dislike. Dislike rode on assumptions.
Ironic, the kid would've been safer with Nepenthe more than the mother, but only in the short term. She wasn't about to piggyback a child into a battle, but if any dangers came at them, Nepenthe would stand between them.
It occurred to her that Ruben must've been born after the war of Ash and Light, not even seen a decade of summers and winters. Her mind cycled through wild guesses: did the parents shelter the knowledge from him, or warn him of drow? Had he defied her wishes and latched onto the first drow he saw? Neither? It was too short a meeting to come to any conclusions, just one of the many tastes of what Rexxentrum had to offer.
She couldn't fault a mother for warning her children of the Dynasty and its creed. But it was another blister the Luxon had left her to deal with: a disdain she hadn't earned for herself.
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Head Matron,
I've received your orders and look forward to this Sister's arrival. I will be out of town starting on the fourth of Horisal for an indeterminate amount of time in pursuit of the second key.
I seek guidance on another matter: there's a black market here run by a halfling woman who works with or is part of the Myriad. She's asked my name, a saleable item, and leverage all as the price of admission. I've given none of these things yet. I'm not sure anything that could benefit us is worth them poking their noses where they don't belong. There are others in my unit who will likely gain access before me and could potentially be my eyes if necessary.
I'm not eager to hand out poisoned blades to more hands; any information on me is a potential thread that leads back to us. The vault feels more my priority. Please advise.
Nepenthe
â
Vierna,
The stars not to your liking? That's fine; I can see you in everything. Lilac bushes, the empty space beside me, the smell of parchment, even this woman's cane that had a hidden blade inside. I couldn't think of a better metaphor.
I'm delighted to hear Cookie is sleeping on my side of the bed, but I also understand if you don't want a giant spider there. I would tell her to stop if you don't like it, except I don't think she can read.
Apologies for the less-than-detailed reply, you deserve more. We leave the city tomorrow for the Barony of Ashfen but I have no excuseâmy companions need sleep and it leaves me with spare hours. I trust your mind to see connections I would miss, I just need more time to process what you've told me.
I feel like any question I could ask is one you've already thought of, but I'll ask them anyway for me to think upon the open road: were we told what we were told because they didn't know, either? Could it be the information they gave us was wrong at the time? Is there a purpose to it, if they've lied? Are these the wrong questions? My head spins.
I'm nothing if not a good judge of danger, and the Empire has yet to truly challenge me, at least in combat. Emotionally and socially, I feel flat footed and isolated from my people. That is to say, all five vials remain sealed as of writing.
Your letter will stay close to my heart in the meantime.
Love,
Nepenthe
Nepenthe welcomed winter's fangs when she shoved out the little shack door into the night. The storm had gathered speed, offering a distraction from the growing wildfire of her thoughts and feelings that threatened to cook her insides alive.
She restrained her expression until Maes retreated back into the shelter. The lashing wind threatened to extinguish her cigar so she cradled it close, her extremities numbing. She didn't want to know what she looked likeâa picture in anguish.
She was half-tempted to chuck the finished nub into the woods and burn it all down in the hope of spotting Azul among the ashes. Instead, she dropped it to the cleared path and crushed it under her heel with a crude amount of force.
Frequency illusion, chance, or fateâthat she'd stood where her daughter had only three weeks prior felt like one of the three. Vierna had explained frequency illusion to her before: a bias where you noticed a pattern of something after recently becoming aware of it. Vierna had written about Azul potentially being in the Empire and here was proof not two days later.
Nepenthe was more a believer of faith than accidents, but even Vierna would probably connect the two as more than coincidence. The account we were given does not hold together, and you know what I do with a result that does not hold.
Nepenthe wanted to reach back through time and guide her own hand into writing what she knew now: our daughter was here. She uses a false name.
Ghosts of the interaction the children had described haunted her: Azul ducking through a door frame too short for her, taking up one of the worn wooden chairs, warming herself by the fire, her inevitable gratitude for their hospitality, her blood on the floor. She'd been hurt and Nepenthe hadn't been there to help her.
Disgust flicked its snake tongue at her. Did the foul Arch Heart not grant her the magic to heal herself as Lolth had? She stuffed her hands under her armpits for warmth.
Had they crossed paths in Rexxentrum without her knowing? Had Azul caught word of what Nepenthe's group had been up to? Did she know about Velkyn? What was her goal?
Did she miss her? Tears stung her eyes but instantly froze on her lashesâshe hastily pinched them away.
Nepenthe had no way of immediately telling Vierna unless she asked Derval to send a message. All she could think to ask without revealing the depth of the issue was "She was in the Empire" and assume Vierna would understand.
Unable to bear the cold any longer, she steeled herself and dipped back inside the sleepy cabin. She crept over to Derval and sat behind her with only a thin pocket of air between them, watching her scribble in her spellbook margins from over her shoulder. The blizzard buffeting the cabin howled mournfully around them.
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cihro: twitch streamer, part time masseuse. does parkour on the side for fitness and fun. can be a little taller than his half-elf self as a treat, but only around 5'6"
crow/ulysses: lawyer, not sure what kind. they'd just look like their usual human self here
iona: personal assistant & journalistâthink the devil wears prada. competes in archery but isn't at an olympic level. still 5'9", dresses very fashionably even when she's going on a run or hitting the gym. has a medium-large dog, either a borzoi or a silken windhound named nutmeg
nepenthe: banker, occasionally volunteers in her free time for community services. kind of a competitive soccer suburban-type mom. either had azul with an ex or had a sperm donor
union: pediatric or family doctor; has a more broad range of medical knowledge over a specialization. still has his kitties lord and banana
vesuria: car mechanic; wears a jumpsuit, still very tall for a woman but obviously not 8ft, probably more around 6'1". she makes videos for tiktok like "client complained about (x)" and shows a hilarious problem on the vehicle. has a black belt or two so don't be sexist at her. parents are immigrants but she was born in canada
Maes was looking for Infernal metal and a Beacon. Omega sought something similar to Nepenthe in that they wouldn't know it until they saw it. That's where the similarities ended; Omega and Maes both wanted these items for themselves or a patron. To different ends, but in service to themselves.
It never occurred to her on the long wagon ride over that she'd be the only one serving something greater than herself. Nepenthe didn't worship Lolth strictly for powerâshe did it because it was right. Magic was a fortunate side-effect; the strength of her body had always been her own, only bolstered by her goddess.
Anwir had spent years with Velkyn but lacked commitmentâit felt like she always had one foot out the door. Maes lacked patience. It seemed that only through Derval, Omega, and her they had recently surged into success.
That, or luckâor, she thought reluctantly, their synergy. She knew a well-oiled team could make or break a mission. A weak link had the power to undo them all and Velkyn must've discarded the ones that had broken and forged something stronger with the remains. Even with her varying opinions on her cell as individuals, she couldn't deny they fought well together.
The swan-like elegance of Ysmerelda's cane reminded her of the steady tap of Vierna's around the house. The blade nestled inside, tooâhow Vierna was a hidden weapon with her mind, her magic, her poisons.
Nepenthe had never had to miss her this way before: interminably, in strange and new ways. There had always been a clear end to her missions resolving with her in Dumaran or dead. She supposed that was still true, only it'd been drawn out by time and distance. Her ultimate goalâLolth's goalâwas perennial, but under Velkyn the scope of it kept evolving before her eyes.
The Children mostly tackled their purpose alone, but they had been alone together. She still had them, but the miles between them effected the weight of her task. There was a delay in their support.
Derval's absence was an itch in her side during the meeting. She longed to know what she wanted from the black market, and why.
Dicentra returned on a good day; the afternoon promised impeccable sunshine. Ulysses changedâgods, they needed a whole new wardrobeâand together they made for the local marketplace. The breeze mixed seawater, freshly harvested fruits and vegetables, and newly-baked breads into a mouth-watering aroma.
They stopped by a few familiar stalls to collect food for their picnic, Dicentra on Ulyâs arm and a wicker basket looped through Dicentraâs elbow. The shopkeepers turned pink whenever Di spoke, pleased as punch whenever they were rewarded a smile or laugh. They snagged the odd free item that way and got a discount for othersâall to see Dicentra glow. Dicentra was effortlessly charming even without the use of her magic.
Some recognized her and reached out to touch her hand as they passed food into the basketâs mouth. âMiss Rosenthal, we missed you. Your family said youâd taken ill.â
Dicentra beamed. âNo need to worry, Iâm ill no more.â
There was a difference for Uly, too. She hadnât gone into town much since the ritual, preferring the seclusion of Jhiraâs cottage and its fields or beach while they adjusted to their new body.Â
Ulysses used to disappear next to Dicentra. It never bothered her, but now people spared her a glanceâapprehension, other times curious or admiring, sometimes even jealousy, but always with something. It reminded her of when sheâd first arrived on the Material Plane, how people could just sense the off-ness about her.Â
Having Dicentra on her arm made her feel like the luckiest person on the peninsula. With the surety of their bond and the devoted affection of a devil, she felt unstoppable. Nobody could overlook her anymore. Power had a tangibility, and some of Dicentraâs had shed off on her. It was in her blood now.
Goods collected, they broke away from the town along the roadânorth from Flora Isle, away from vacationers and tourists. When the murmur of civilization receded into the whispers of birdsong and wind over willowy grass and distant waves, Dicentra sighed.
âIâm sorry I was delayed,â she said, squeezing closer. âYou probably already guessed, but it was my father. Logistics and things. He expected me to eventually return to the Hells, but not because I'd be regenerating.â
âI thought so.â
âHe was displeased about the sword, to put it mildlyâbut he doesnât know enough about the magic to risk unmaking it in case it could harm me, and as I said before, itâs easier to ask for his forgiveness than permission. I knew he wouldnât punish me or even blame you for making a pact with me. I think a part of him privately thinks Iâm using you, or hopes so.â
âSo he wonât turn up and try to kill me?â
âNot without a better cause. He knows youâre more useful now than before. I expect him to turn up, just not to hurt you.â âAgainâ hovered in the air like a biting fly.Â
"What can I expect, then?"
"He may want to use your new magic for different work here on the Material Plane."
Ulysses sighed. "Anything to get in his good graces."
Dicentra stroked their arm. "Don't say anything. Save that for me."
"Jhira wants to know when we'll head back to Port Damali."
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i do enjoy "living weapon" characters but specifically living weapons who did in fact do absolutely horrific things which at least a part of them enjoyed and thought was good and right at the time, and that no amount of not knowing any better or guilt they feel in hindsight will ever make up for. i love living weapons who are "irredeemable", and no it's not their fault that they were made that way or pointed in the directions they were by the hand that wielded them, and yes they are victims, but so were their victims. living weapons who some people will never be able to forgive, but who still wake up every day and try to do better than what's expected of them. a sword that uses its blade to cut wheat to make bread for the people who once lived in fear of its arc falling on their heads.