constellations @splinterfoot - Tumblr Blog | Tumlook (2024)

llyrbxnes‌:

location: Balgud, near to the surfacetime: mid-morning, day of arrivalavailability: open

Traveling with a group was still a little foreign to Llyr. Arriving at Balgud, he wasn’t entirely sure what to do. It seemed the others in the group all had plans or destinations of their own in mind. Either that, or perhaps he had just gotten distracted by a sight and the next thing he knew, he was separated from the others. He was fairly certain, though, that he wasn’t the first to break off from the rest of the group. So it was probably fine that he had lost track of them. He would just catch up to them later.

In an effort to look like he had something to do, like he had purpose, Llyr stopped at an archway. The architecture was impressive, that was genuine. He ran a gentle hand up one of the beams, delicate and ornate. To think this had been mined out of the very earth… Discreetly, he cast Detect Magic, more out of idle curiosity than anything else. Nothing – at least in the immediate area, the town was devoid of magic. Some distance away, at the edge of the spells reach, there was a faint pulse of an aura, but that was likely Ophelia, or Sylvar, or one of the others of the Gambit.

Looking up, he shielded his eyes against the slant rays of sun. To think – all this done with likely no magic at all…

From city to city, town to town, Splinter is other. She’s of the forest, the trees and the dirt and the things that grow. Anywhere else, she just doesn’t belong. Everyone else knows it. They can see it in her ears, her height, the color of her skin, the glint in her eyes. So she sticks to the shadows, never quite meeting their gaze.

Here, in Balgud, it’s not so terrible; with her hood pulled up, she’s almost indistinguishable from the dwarves. So they pay her no mind. Even when she steps up to a small stall, they pay her no mind. (Normally, shopkeepers refuse to take their eyes off her, sure those delicate fingers of hers are going to snatch up whatever’s nearest. Sometimes, they’re not wrong.)

But as she wanders away, she catches sight of Llyr; tall as a mountain, with great big horns. They haven’t spent much time together, but Splinter thinks maybe he hasn’t spent much time with any of them. She watches him for a moment; she smells that acrid tinge of magic as he stands near a wall. Then he looks up, out at the sun.

She saunters up to him, tossing a red and ripe fruit from one hand to the other. She follows his gaze and squints at the sun. Though being in the city is better than being out of it, neither make her feel safe; here, she’s surrounded by stone, the sky far beyond her grasp, but outside, the sky’s too close, scorching her.

“What do you see?” she asks.

khxvakri‌:

rivenofthesea‌:

location: the catacombs of balgudmission: an irresistible opportunity@khxvakri @splinterfoot

The sun crept along the edges of the great ravine, slowly sinking down across the horizon - leaving Riven and her companions shrouded the necessary shadows for their task. Perhaps it wasn’t the smartest idea she’d ever had but no one could say Riven didn’t know how to keep things exciting. Nestled into a nook in the wall besides a small inn - she held a mug of tea in tired hands; occasionally taking a sip to keep a measure of warmth sitting inside her. The entrance that lead down into the catacombs was not a popular place to say the least; but unnecessary risks were the hallmark of a fool and she was no fool. A detachments of dwarvish guards was passing through the street - each choreographed step ringing out with the sound of platemail clashing against hard rock. She felt their eyes fall upon her and merely kept her head downturned, sipping at her tea; hood drawn up to cover obviously elven features. I’m just a nobody. A trader. Not even worth the glance…

The detachment passed her by and she raised her eyes to stare after them; smiling to herself as people began to make their way home. Shops were closing up, torches being lit. Balgud was winding down for the evening and she quickly made her way of her enclosure - giving the nod she knew Khovakri and Splinterfoot were waiting for. Tucking herself into the archway the gate downwards was located in - she gripped the lock and let the energy twisting inside her escape for just a moment.

A grin spread across her face as rust crept over the sturdy metal - melting away any resilience it might’ve had. Plucking a dagger from her boot, she slid the end of the blade between the chain and the lock and wrenched it hard to the side. A hollow snap followed before the chain and the lock hit the ground and she was already ducking inside - pulling her hood back and holding her hand out in front of her. She whispered a small word, a plea to the stars that shone over the sea for a bit of their glory and a radiant orb materialized over her finger - cerulean light bouncing off the dark, hard stone. Putting her back to the wall just inside the entrance, she lowered the light - waiting for her companions to arrive. This is great idea. We’re gonna be fine.

The last rays of the sun slowly disappeared and with them, the dwarves that walked in a hurried pace across the entrance to the catacombs. Of all the things he expected dwarves to fear, ghosts was perhaps the strangest of them all. Why fear the dead or their spirits, when the living were far more capable of deceiving and hurting others? Nightmares, corruption, darkness, war. Those were things the world should fear but ghosts? There were worse things than death. As the light went finally out, Khovakri took the little lantern he had been carrying around and lit a small fire, covering it up with a cloth to dim it. Dwarves were sensitive to light this far down into the ravine, and the kalashtar didn’t mean to start a fight right before they were to embark in a mission plenty of them would surely frown upon.

The traffic in the streets thinned and eventually, Riven walked out of the small inn she was keeping an eye on. He smiled when he noticed her, nodding in return and walking over to the entrance of the catacombs, keeping an eye out for any guards or trouble coming for them. Luckily, and as expected, the streets were empty of life and light and soon enough, the telling sound and smell of magic at work surrounded them, rusting the lock and breaking it under the pressure of a dagger.“You could’ve just asked me to break it, you know? No need to waste your magic on that,” Khovakri reminded Riven with a gentle smile as he walked through the entrance right after her, placing a warm hand on her shoulder for a fraction of a second as he made his way a bit deeper, first in the line of fire in case there were enemies ahead.

But the tunnel seemed empty, at least for now. His eyes tied to adjust to the darkness unsuccessfully, the dim light of his lantern not enough to show a clear path until he blinked and suddenly, a radiant orb of light made the tunnel bright as day. Once again, there stood Riven, always one step ahead.“You mages have such useful tricks,” he chuckled to himself, turning to the women behind him.“Let’s not engage anything until we know they’re hostile. Ghost rarely seek a fight.”

The hours before they head for the catacombs remind her of the plays the troupe would perform. All three of them perform their roles perfectly, the picture of innocence. Riven is a nobody, a woman at the inn. No one pays her any mind, not with her hood pulled down low. Khovraki stands off the main thoroughfare, doing his best to blend in with the shadows. Splinter idles in a doorway, her fingers twisting long hair into a tight braid. She watches the door to the inn.

When Riven leaves, so does Khovraki. He lights a lantern and follows Riven’s cloaked figure. Splinter moves too, flipping her half-finished braid over her shoulder. At the catacombs, Riven breaks the lock with magic and Khovraki chastises her.

“And I could’ve picked it,” she pouts, “much quieter that way.”

By the time they’re all inside, Riven’s already conjured up some kind of light. Splinter, her gaze always keen, doesn’t need it. Khovraki speaks, warns them not to blindly attack anything that moves. Her eyes rolling, Splinter strides ahead of Riven. Her feet make no noise against stone floor.

“So ghosts are real, then?” she asks, more to the wall than her companions. “I always wondered.”

Balgud is like nothing else she’s ever seen. Even here, in the catacombs, it’s alien. The stone walls are rough against her hands, the floor ice beneath her feet. It makes sense, she thinks, for this place to be full of ghosts. There’s nowhere for their spirits to escape. She presses an ear to the wall; can she hear them? Are they sad? Angry? What will they do when they’re found?

There’s nothing but silence. So she pushes away, traipses further down the tunnel. From there branches off more tunnels, more halls. A twisting maze of them, all spanning off the others. She smiles.

“This is gonna be so much fun. C’mon!”

brenharrowood‌:

location: by the campfire, just off the highroad time: a little after midnight, the night before the Gambit’s arrival in Balgud

They almost always volunteered to take watch, no matter who was around – especially the night before the Gambit made its way into some town or another, when their nerves were at their worst. If they had it there way, the Gambit would never stop in any town, but… if that were the case, they’d have a harder time holding onto members. They’d learned that quick and early.

So they sat by the campfire, trying to take their mind off of the days to come, the fire at their face, their back pressed up against the cool stone of Andesite’s leg behind them. Soft footsteps headed their way, intentionally quiet but not sneaky, not dangerous– ah, yes, of course. They glanced up from the fire at their companion, pulled from the soft trance of their own thoughts.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

Even standing here, amidst the sand and sand and sand, Splinterfoot can hardly believe it exists. No life, no trees, nothing but sand. Her feet sink into it, her eyes see for miles, and she’s never been more alone. There’s nothing familiar to anchor her. There’s nothing. The few plants she’s seen were covered in needles, so sharp and so unkind.

And she’s never felt more out of place than when Bren looks up at her approaching footsteps. The sand beneath her feet is the noisiest she’s ever heard; every step is loud as breaking glass. So when she sits by the fire, it’s with a huff, her usual smile a stranger on her lips.

“It’s nights like these I wish I could,” she sighs.

Small already, she makes herself smaller still, pulling her legs to her chest and resting her chin upon them. She tucks hair behind her ear and watches the fire dance upon the logs. It was so hot during the day but now, with the sun sunk low, her bones are ice in her skin. Her skin still feels warm.

“I’ve never seen anything like this place,” she says. “And I never want to see something like it again. How can you stand it? The plants here are so mean.”

elf and goliath

What do you like to rest and relax?

her brow pinched, her lips puckered; she barely looks up from her work as she says, “this.” before her, a stick is shoved into the dirt. it’s bare, no bark or branches or leaves. her knife nicks the end of it, scoring soft wood. her fingers tear at feathers, ripping them in half. then again, into thirds. “it’s mindless work.” she adds a layer of resin so the feathers may stick. “but it calms me.” she flashes a smile, broad and bright, when she ties the feathers on. “they won’t be as good as arrows i can buy from a fletcher, but they’ll do.”

Talk about the most dangerous experience you’ve ever had.

there’s a flash in her eyes, her lips; a smile, and something deeper, hidden. “the right answer is none, right? i wouldn’t be a very good thief if i ever got caught.” but she still thinks, her face screwed up in concentration. and then she crouches, eyes shimmering. “once,” she starts, her voice deep and low, “when i was young, i saw a shadow in the trees. and i, a fool at the time, wanted to see what it could be. i hoped it was a fox. i loved the color of their fur. so, i followed the shadow. but i could never quite catch it.” she shifts on her haunches, hair falling around her face, hands moving as if guiding an elven puppet. “at some point, i didn’t care what it truly was; i simply wanted to catch it. i’d been chasing it for hours, you see. deeper and deeper into the woods. but i hadn’t noticed i’d gone past where my parents allowed me to go. i was venturing into the ancient wood, where trees walked and animals spoke. i didn’t notice as the forest reached for me, as their branches grabbed at my hair. i could only see the shadow. but then, it stopped. and then…” she leaps up, yelling and hooting and hollering. then she laughs, a sound big as the redwoods. “i’m not stupid enough to get myself into anything dangerous. have you tried asking phoenix? i’m sure he’s got loads of yarns to spin.”

(she doesn’t want to tell the truth, or anything close to it. she won’t tell of when she was young, a child, and found herself cornered by a cougar. how it screamed and deafened her, how she understood the way a rabbit felt when it saw her bow. she froze and it would’ve killed her, had her mother not been there. or her first night in the city, when she discovered how small and weak she was. when men three times her size cornered her, jeering at her ears, her clothes. how she couldn’t understand what they wanted but knew it started with her blood. instead, she laughs.)

BASICS

name: splinterfootgender/pronouns: cisfemale, she/herrace: wood elfa*ge: 53

PERSONALITY

traits: i sleep with my back to a wall or tree, with everything i own wrapped in a bundle in my arms / i can stare down a hellhound without flinching flaw: If there’s a plan, I’ll forget it. If I don’t forget it, I’ll ignore it. alignment: chaotic neutralideal: i am a free spirit – no one tells me what to do.

BACKGROUND

her people thrive among the trees, but she is strangled by their roots, hidden by their branches. she loves and she hates. when she walks, she loves the bark and the leaves, because they keeps the trees alive; she loves the birds that sing and the foxes that scream; she loves her father, for telling her stories, and her mother for teaching her feet how to whisper, her bow to aim true, her spine to never bend. but she hates the trees, for they block out the sun; she hates the animals, for their deadly games; she hates her parents, for holding her too close.

as she ventures further and further from home, she reaches the edge of their forest. it isn’t immediate; there’s no line where she crosses into a different world, no point where the trees end and roads and buildings and cities begin. but she sees things that aren’t theirs. a path pressed into the dirt, an abandoned camp, discarded clothes and jewelry and trinkets she secrets away. one day, she ventures further out: a hut, in a village, on the outskirts of a city. when her bare feet touch cobbled streets, she never goes back. she hides amongst the outcasts, the orphaned, the unloved; she teaches them how to shoot and they teach her to pick locks. but the children grow up around her. they find their place and they leave her behind. so she stows away in a caravan, to seek her own.

the troupers find her the next morning, tucked away with the instruments. they greet her with open arms, open smiles. in return for a few of her trinkets, they feed her, clothe her, listen to her stories. one, in particular, catches their attention; about a girl who was not so much born as created from the leg of a hunter, who fought beasts which yearned to make her theirs, who turned herself into a star when she was tired of the chase. from then on, they call her splinterfoot, for the miraculous girl, and whatever she’d been called before is lost to the wind, to the trees. she travels with them for years and years and years. she goes out some nights and returns with gold, though she never says how she gets it. she dances when they play, but only for herself. she hunts when food grows scarce. but one morning, she wakes and her legs are anxious; they push her out of bed, into dew soaked grass, and tell her to run. her heart says the same. so she gathers her belongings, few though they are, and leaves before anyone else wakes. on the horizon, she can only see a promise of adventure.

ABILITIES & GEAR

stats: 10 STR / 15 DEX / 8 CON / 12 INT / 11 WIS / 13 CHAclass: thief

skills: deception / sleight of hand / performance / acrobatics

inventory: short sword, short bow and a quiver with 20 arrows, burglar’s pack, 30 tal, leather armor, two daggers, thieves’ tools, a well-loved lute covered in crude carvings of birds and trees and stars

other abilities: elf weapon training, fleet of foot, mask of the wild, sneak attack, thieves’ cant, trance, darkvision, keen sense, fey ancestry

WANTED BONDS

___ gave me food/shelter/protection when I needed it; I am in their debt.

___ is a fool, and when they are in trouble I will refuse to bail them out.

___ is like a broken clock: always right twice a day.

___ has much to teach me about ____________.

I need to prove myself to ___, no matter the cost to myself.

___ has fought by my side before and has my respect.

___ helped me with a dangerous mission, and the two of us made a powerful enemy.

___ owes me for a favor I did them; I won’t let them forget it until the debt is paid.