#prodigyofelturel

r. ar.mi.tage as rolan for @prodigyofelturel

She's greeted with much more contempt than expected, raising her eyebrows and frowning as she watches the wizard step around her and then slump atop the stool. Come to think of it, she hasn't seen him anywhere but by the bar since their arrival at the inn...

"I wouldn't say you belong there. You never striked me as much of a drinker," Alfira notes, shaking her head slightly, but opting to take a seat next to him.

"...we missed you at lunch. I saved you a meal, but the kids split it when we couldn't find you," She continues on, speaking carefully as she looks to him.

LORROAKAN HAD BEEN COURTEOUS —— if one could call it that. But he was also insufferably boeastful, endlessly rambling about his (alleged) achievements. His lessons were hollow at best, and more often than not, he merely treated his apprentice as an unpaid shopkeeper. (❝Surely, you didn’t think I would bestow my invaluable wisdom without compensation?❞)

It didn’t take long before the snide remarks started.

Sometimes, it was a needless critique about Rolan’s stance behind the counter, even when he stood perfectly straight. Other times, it was outright racist and cruel ; like wondering aloud if something should be done about those unsightly horns. Naturally, Lorroakan hadn’t chosen a tiefling apprentice out of kindness. No, he had done it for the image, to flaunt how open-minded he was.

Still, even those insults had always been softly spoken. Cutting words disguised with honeyed tones, and he had never yelled.

Until now.

Lorroakan’s eyes blazed with fury as he surveyed the mess, the acrid scent of mixed potions already stinging the air. As the realization sank in — that a fortune in alchemical supplies had just been wasted — his rage erupted like a storm.

❝You wretched, USELESS DEVIL!❞ Lorroakan thundered, vaulting off his absurd throne of books, striding forward.

❝Do you even comprehend the loss you have caused?! Do you know how many rare reagents go into even one of these potions?! You can’t even manage the simple task of holding onto a crate without causing absolute ruin! You foul-blooded imbecile!❞

He had felt the tremor, of course. Several books had tumbled from their shelves. But that hardly mattered.

No, this was Rolan’s fault.

Mizora leaned against a nearby crate, watching Rolan fumble his spellwork like a baby bird attempting its first flight — ambitious, loud, and utterly disastrous. At first, it had been amusing. A talented boy, full of raw magical power but lacking the discipline to wield it properly. But after the tenth misfire, the novelty had long since worn off.

She rolled her eyes as yet another gust of uncontrolled energy burst from his fingertips, scattering leaves and upending a pile of books he'd stacked nearby. Pathetic. He had all that power at his disposal, and yet he wielded it like a drunk swinging a greatsword. It was almost painful to watch. Almost.

With an exaggerated sigh loud enough for him to hear, she pushed herself up from her lounging spot and sauntered toward him, rolling up her sleeves. "You're in too much of a haste, darling," she scolded, positioning herself beside him, lifting her hands and mirroring his earlier movements — only slower, more refined, every gesture flowing with the kind of precision that came with centuries of training.

"Don't try to bend the Weave over," she continued, her voice smooth as silk yet laced with unmistakable mentorship authority. "Let it flow through you. Some wizards cling to magical foci, their little trinkets and staffs to aid their channeling." She said, placing a hand in is spellbook. "But that is a weakness you don’t need." Swiftly, she snatched the book from his hand, closing it with a dramatic thwap and tossing it over her shoulder. "Your body can be your own conduit."

To prove her point, she let the power build within her, calling upon the storm that rested deep in her bones. The air around her crackled as the Weave answered — not with resistance, but with devotion.

And then—

Boom.

A pulse of energy erupted from her, rolling through the ground in a shockwave of thunder, rattling rocks and sending a sharp wind whipping through teiir hair. It was controlled, directed, and devastatingly efficient. The very ground hummed beneath their feet as the residual energy faded.

Mizora turned to him with a smirk. "Now, your turn."

♡  𝗣𝗢𝗦𝗜𝗧𝗜𝗩𝗜𝗧𝗬  𝗙𝗢𝗥  𝗣𝗥𝗢𝗗𝗜𝗚𝗬𝗢𝗙𝗘𝗟𝗧𝗨𝗥𝗘𝗟  ♡

RELATIONSHIP BUILDING

ROLAN & LORROAKAN HCs

⭐️ Rolan sent Lorroakan multiple letters, trying to secure an apprenticeship with him. Lorroakan, naturally, left him on read for an obscenely long time lmao. He only bothered responding when shit hit the fan in Elturel. After... about the fifth letter?

⭐️ Lorroakan houses Rolan’s siblings in a storage room at the docks, but he makes it sound like this is some grand display of generosity. After all, they are IN the city, aren’t they?

⭐️ Some of the tower’s lower levels are still unexplored thanks to some nasty magical wards. Lorroakan sent Rolan to deal with them & was annoyed when he came back injured. And he sent him right back down there!! "Oh, don’t be ridiculous! If this is the threshold of your endurance, then I fear I’ve made a grave mistake in taking you on..."

⭐️ Rolan has never seen Lorroakan in casual attire. The man is always impeccably dressed.

⭐️ A rare moment of bonding for them was when they bitched about some terribly privileged wizard they both heard of.

Tav!Lorroakan & Rolan HCs as a bonus

⭐️ They met at the Emerald Grove. Lorroakan, naturally, had no idea who Rolan was — but Rolan recognized him immediately and eagerly offered his services. He sent his siblings off without him, because he knew their journey would be too dangerous for them to tag along.

⭐️ Lorroakan makes full use of the situation. Before long, he has effectively turned him into his personal camp butler.

⭐️ Gale and Lorroakan argue about that. Also about spell practice and Lorroakan makes it a point to discredit and undermine every single thing Gale says. "But Master Dekarios told me——""This is absurd! That spell is utterly ineffective when cast that way! But, by all means, if you prefer to take lessons from Mystra’s discarded pet project — discarded for good reason, I might add — rather than from me, the Master of Ramazith’s Tower, be my guest!!!"

⭐️ Rolan notices that Lorroakan is… a little too adept at picking locks. Seems like he has experience?? Rolan can’t help but wonder where, exactly, he picked that up…

⭐️ Rolan is devastated upon learning his siblings have been taken to Moonrise. After many battles fought together, Lorroakan has softened — just slightly. He even offers comfort. Or, more accurately, he tells Rolan to get his shit together, because whining won’t save them. And yes, they will save them.

BLOOD still stained his fine clothes from the battle at the gates of the Emerald Grove. It had been his first real fight, and Sylverian was quick to learn that reality bore little resemblance to his courtly fencing lessons.

Somehow — despite his panic (and thanks to his valiant companions) — he had emerged relatively unscathed. But as the others lingered outside to loot the goblins, Sylverian had a complete meltdown. He cried, he threw up, and Lae’zel, unimpressed, had drawn her sword, ready to end his misery, declaring that someone so weak would be both useless and a liability. Thankfully, the others had intervened. And thankfully, the people inside the Grove hadn’t witnessed any of this.

Once inside, Sylverian had hoped to find proper shelter. A warm bath, perhaps. At the very least, a decent bed. A HEALER.

He had been sorely mistaken.

It was all too much — the tadpole, the looming sense of doom, the brutality, the suffering, and now learning that the only healer who might be able to help them was imprisoned in a goblin camp. Tears welled in his iridescent eyes once more when one of the tiefling refugees suggested they gather supplies and bedrolls.

❝I refuse to sleep on the ground like some filthy vagabond!❞ he suddenly shouted, chin held high despite the tremor in his voice. ❝Haven’t I suffered enough already? Is there no end to the trials I must face?!❞

You know what your problem is? You’re spoilt.

When the wizard from earlier commented on Sylverian’s outburst, he turned to him, eyes wide ; then they narrowed. ❝Watch your tongue!❞ he snapped, hastily brushing away a stray tear.

❝I am Lord of House Selemchant, and you will grant me the respect I am due!❞ Princess Bonbon let out a whine, unaccustomed to seeing her papa so distressed. At once, Sylverian scooped up the little ball of fluff, cradling her close.

❝I have endured bloodshed and hardship beyond imagining today, and I will NOT endure your insolence as well!❞ He added, his tone a little more measured so as not to startle his poor little Princess, but no less sharp.

You are so talented and amazing BUT ALSO INSANELY SUPPORTIVE AND A BEAUTIFUL HUMAN.