#rolanites

Let's hear it for low effort Rolanposting for pride!!!

+ bonus SirenThunder shitposting

Rolan! Because I really needed to draw my favorite grumpy wizard.

Have a close up and process video too because I love you. 😘

Prayers from Rolan

Summary: Rolan isn't one to pray daily to a deity, even when his life is in turmoil. Instead he prays to his mom who is no longer with Rolan, Cal and Lia. These are 10 prayers to her throughout his journey, as if she was still there because he can no longer go to her for guidance and family has always been important to him.

Word Count: 1,000 (10x100 Drabble style)

CW/TW: Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Sadness, Character Study

A huge thank you to @wasteful-sam for the idea that Rolan prays to his mom, and for the VP gif of Rolan! 💜

First 2 prayers are below the Keep Reading cut.

Please read the full drabble here on AO3.

Thank you for reading! 😊💜

Lovers ❤️

Absolutely gorgeous commission of Elle and Rolan, by @rigelfallenstar (instagram here)

Good Morning, Rolan ❤️

———-—————————-

Always handsome, Rolan ❤️

A headcanon lore snippet for Rolan, a significant moment for him in the quest to cure Vampirism.

A Quiet Revolution
Characters: Ellessario (OC Durge), Astarion, Rolan
Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Underdark, Found Family, Ethical Vampirism, Love Triangle (Resolved)

After the Elderbrain’s defeat, Elle fled to the Underdark where Astarion had found reluctant refuge from the sun, and where seven thousand freed Spawn waited for leadership they had never known. In following him, she had left behind Rolan. It didn’t feel like a choice, but she bore the weight of it like one.

In the dark reaches beneath Faerûn, the Paladin and the Vampire built something improbable—self-sustaining, ethical bloodbanks; a quiet revolution that fed thousands without need for cruelty or death, or the ravaged hunger Spawn were accustomed to. The implications were huge, its very concept undermining a millennia of control, tyranny and infamy wielded by Vampire Lords across Toril. Setting the foundations of it all was an exhaustingly rewarding, stressful feat.

When Elle finally resurfaced three years in, it was to find Rolan. She had carried deep grief, a shame so singular, for leaving him behind without a goodbye and under the weight of responsibility to seven thousand immortal souls. She had not had time to warn him, when she chased after their Pale Elf, burning to dust under the dawn that was now free of the Absolute, and the tadpoles that had occupied their brains.

Rolan’s heart, torn for too long now, ached. Hurt and anger, his shared grief entangled with both rejection and a deep-seated empathy for the choice she had made, and with wonder at what they had achieved afterwards. No feeling truly held its ground against the one that had left him utterly bereft for the past three years.

Love.

Elle’s blood, cursed by Bhaal and mixed with the divine radiance of Aasimar, carried possibilities neither celestial nor infernal law had fully dared to test. If any force could give Astarion even a moment beneath the sun, perhaps it was hers.

Rolan followed her into terrifying depths of perpetual darkness, where a species misunderstood and feared by most was rising rapidly with uncharted purpose - the scorned race had been nurtured by an angel, and commandeered by an immortal Spawn who had rejected the unfathomable power of Ascension in favour of a quiet freedom of his own.

The boat cut quietly through the black water, its lantern casting a pale, wavering circle of light that barely dented the vast dark around them. Rolan sat rigid near the prow, fingers curled around the railing, eyes wide despite himself. The Underdark was nothing like the books—colder, deeper, alive in a way that unsettled the soul.

Bioluminescent fungi shimmered along the cavern walls like distant stars, and the air vibrated with a low, ever-present hum, as though the earth itself breathed.

Elle watched his face with a quiet sympathy; she remembered her own first descent. Astarion, by contrast, stood balanced at the bow, relaxed in a way that seemed almost at home amidst the gloom. His pale hair glowed iridescent, and there was a rare calmness to him—this realm was harsh, yes, but predictable. It was honest in its darkness.

“Nearly there,” Astarion said without turning. His voice carried softly over the air.

Rolan swallowed, his gaze slowly passing in long, neck-stretched sweeps over the cavernous rocks above him.
“This is… larger than I imagined.”

Elle offered her usual smile, though it was tireder than Rolan ever remembered seeing it. “It’s overwhelming at first. It gets easier. Promise.”

“Some of it gets easier,” Astarion cut in dryly. “Some of it also tries to kill you. Frequently.”

Rolan shot him a look—half exasperation, half gratitude for the familiar sarcasm. “Comforting,” he muttered.

Later, he stood amongst the spawn, watching their quiet order, their hope; a community forged with Astarion’s resilience and Ellessario’s vigour. At the threshold of darkness and discovery, the three of them stepped into a future bold enough to change the fate of an entire species.

The Tiefling Wizard had laid his bets on love, and set his mind to an alchemy that might one day reshape the long, cursed lineage of vampirism itself.