#moonshadowedthief

Dalamus' hands seem to slow in their movement as he considers the words--briefly, but noticeably, before they resume polishing the stone against grit.

The kiss lands on his cheek, entirely unearned.

Raphael stills, the gears of his infernal mind grinding. Then ─── there it was. That creeping, insufferable curl of satisfaction, smugness bleeding in.

My, my. The little mouse has found its courage ( again ), or perhaps simply lost its mind. But could he blame her? He is, after all, a specimen of unparalleled magnetism

He caught Elenna’s wrist, lifting her hand.

❝ if you’re going to be foolish enough to steal my feathers, do be a little quieter next time. ❞ finally did he bother to open, an annoyed glaze shot in @moonshadowedthief ‘s direction. dirt cascading off wings as they were tucked close. not quite feeling threatened, yet.

Dalamus looks up from his task of putting burn salve on the back of one hand. The backs of his hands, his arms below where his sleeves were pushed up at the elbows, and some of his face and ears bear mild sunburns.

Evidently, Astarion still had not believed that Dalamus would burn so easily in the sun--after all, the tadpole prevented Astarion from burning--and the vampire took off with his piwafwi to prove the point. It took only minutes to prove him wrong, and he snatched back his piwafwi with a string of curses.

"I am surprised," the ancient paladin said as he bent beside the babbling stream running past the long-forgotten village, "that those wretched little beasts left anything for us to find— but look here!" He nodded to the pack at his side, then turned a wide, crooked grin to the younger elf. The pair of them, the sun elf and the little moon elf, had been sent forth from their ever-growing little troupe of survivors in search of supplies— food, medicine, something to sate their hunger (and something to try to cure the worms wriggling about in their skulls, save Myndilon's).

"Rogue's morsel!" Myndilon presented the bag to Elenna as if it were a master thief's prize. "Why, when my dear Silandawen and I lived in the forest, we kept a supply of the stuff. It does wonders for whatever aches one might have. Grind it into a paste, and it helps patch little wounds." He set the mushrooms aside in favor of another small box, drawing a deep green bottle from within; the elderly elf held it at arms length, silver gaze narrowing as he strained to read the label. "And several bottles of wine; if this little party were only myself, my little Urnarseldo, and you, we would be quite alright."

The old elf's smile faltered, though, as he turned back to his young companion. "But what I found will not sustain our entire camp. Oh, would that my dear Silandawen had joined us! She could have turned into a bear, and caught us a fish supper. Why, when we were traveling— many years ago, of course, our great-grandchildren were not yet born..." his voice fell quiet, though, for a moment, and he shook his head. "No," he muttered quickly, "she cannot join us, she is—" Sharp silver eyes snapped back to the younger elf's, and he nodded to her in turn.

25. What is your OC's deepest desire? Would they ever ask for this?

How does your OC remember their childhood? Is this an accurate reflection of what their childhood was actually like?

Dalamus remembers his childhood as tough but fair. Everything his parents ever did was justified, to prepare him for the cruelty of the world. To toughen him up. To make him strong. To make him independent, and resilient. To make him a proper drow of Lolth.

The reality is he was neglected and abused. Punished harshly for perceived failures, and rarely encouraged for accomplishments. This ultimately led him to believe he cannot rely on others for support or help, and asking for it would be met with ridicule or scorn at best, punishment at worst. His "usefulness" determines his worth, so being a tool mattered more than being a person.

Nilaufein undoubtedly is the reason Dalamus survived the neglect as a child, being a barrier between his two brothers, and bringing Dalamus food whenever he was isolated as punishment or medicine when he was quarantined for illness. Giving Dalamus even just a fraction of the childhood he should have had, helped a lot.

What is your OC's deepest desire? Would they ever ask for this?

Another of Dalamus' deepest desires is just, to belong.

With his worth being tied to his usefulness, his career as a gemcutter and silversmith was the linchpin holding his "value" together, and without it he feels like he has lost everything. He thinks, as a Lolthite drow, the only place he can belong is Menzoberranzan.

But he has plenty of people in his life even now willing to prove him wrong.

@moonshadowedthief said: “i bet you a penny and a fiddle of gold that you never told him that we were planning on robbing that camp blind.”

Such an event, a ball hosted by Baldur's Gate's high society, was far from the usual environment where one might find Elenna Ithillómin. Certainly she had not been officially invited, but she had her ways. While she was not truly there to play nice with the wealthy, she had to admit that she had fun dressing up for it. It was ever so rare for a thief to get to wear a ball gown, after all. On the surface, it might look as if the young elf was simply taking a quiet moment to herself away from the party... Were it not for the mage hand she was directing through the upper window, that is. As soon as she noticed Myndilon approach she spun around and smiled the least innocent smile anyone had ever smiled, and hid her hands under her long flowing sleeves so that it wouldn't be quite as obvious that she was spellcasting. “Oh! Um...” she cleared her throat conspicuously, “Hi!”

It was strange, being out so late, in his ancient robes (threadbare in parts, as he tried to ignore), mingling with the upper crust of the city; his dear Silandawen had never liked attending these parties. Too worldly, she'd said. A waste of good gold and food that could go to aid the very least of the city. She is not wrong on that point, Myndilon thought to himself as he looked out over the throng of patriars and lords and ladies and priests as they drank and danced without a care in the world. Gods, how he wished his wife were at his side.

Instead, he stood behind his great-grandson, only able to offer a small, absent smile to those who approached to chat with the odd pair— a sun elf who seemed to have only just emerged from the ruins of Myth Drannor a day prior, and the little red-headed mutt of an elf with a roguish grin and a quick wit. And when his dear grandson was pulled away to dance by a lovely young woman, the ancient paladin offered him the same absent smile he'd given the others. With a heavy sigh, he turned to the open door to the balcony— a bit of fresh evening air would do his heart a world of good.