Datasets:
mickume
/
dnd_drow

Dataset card Data Studio Files
xet
Community
text
stringlengths
0
41.4k
It was getting late.
Zevlor stood first, sure of his footing, then took Yuta’s arm, pulling him up with great care and strength. Yuta’s uneven hooves tripped him, falling into Zevlor’s night shirt as the paladin caught him.
"Oh! Careful..."
Yuta looked up to him, hand placed against his chest. "I..."
They stared at a sudden loss of words as the gentle breeze of night fluttered, the subtle scent of balsam wrapped around them.
Worry and want mingled in their eyes, their faces, waiting for the other to push away, to run, to avoid.
But neither did.
Slowly, Zevlor and Yuta closed the gap between them, lips barely hovering as they shared breath, wildfire and icestorm eyes drawn to one another. Yuta’s hands slid around Zevlor’s waist, hands clasped, settled above the base of his tail. Zevlor’s wrapped under Yuta’s arms, smoothing over his gown, feeling his ribs, his shoulder blades, every hint of sinewy muscle and tiefling spine. Both wanting, both calculating, is this what he wants? Does my age matter? Is he humoring me?
Questions melted as – finally – plush lips met.
They pulled each other close, flush against the other, the glow of starlight framing their bodies, amorous, tender, and haloed by Selûne.
Yuta’s tail sought comfort. The tip led, coiling around Zevlor’s leg. The paladin’s own red tail unconsciously mirrored Yuta’s on the other side, tying them together, bound under the stars.
A glow of several eyes in the grass.
A tongue clicked.
"Ew," Mattis whispered.
"Be quiet," Mol ordered as the tiefling children crouched behind a tree, a stolen bottle of wine in hand.
"Uhm, Mol... Should we leave?"
The one-eyed tiefling huffed. "Be quiet and go that way. At least the old man’s distracted."
Zevlor and Yuta made their way back to camp, Yuta’s tail loosely wrapped around Zevlor’s leg as not to trip him while they walked, the Paladin’s hand at the small of his back to guide him.
"You kids have fun out there?" Karlach asked with a broad grin. Both Yuta and Zevlor startled, pulling away from the other, a gentle dusting of blush across their cheeks. Karlach’s eyes widened nearly as large as her grin was broad.
"Oh, by gods, you’re both so adorable," she tried to quiet herself as not to wake anyone.
They both shifted under her encouragement.
Zevlor turned to Yuta, gaze soft and tender. "Goodnight."
He left the cleric as he made home in his own modest tent.  
Karlach stared at Yuta. Smiling. Cross-legged with her cheek resting on her knuckles.
Yuta flicked out his tail. "Ah... yes?"
She simpered. "Oh... You should go with him. Have a little cuddle." She whispered so gruffly it was a wonder everyone remained asleep.
Yuta looked to Zevlor’s tent, then to the ground, fidgeting, tail tip tapping against his ankle.
"Come on," Karlach practically begged.
Yuta nodded, jostling in place as he worked up the courage. Karlach hissed yes as he trotted along, kneeling by the entry-flap.
The elder tiefling lifted the flap, sitting up.
"Is something wrong?" Concern came over his face.
"N.. No. Nothing’s wrong, I just. Could I sleep with you? No, I mean! In the tent. Sleeping-sleeping. Gods above."
Yuta looked away, wanting to bury his face in the dirt.
Zevlor covered his mouth, trying not to laugh at the poor creature.
"Ah. Of course you can. Come."
He slid himself away, letting Yuta crawl in beside him, tent flap giving them privacy as Karlach quietly cheered in her mind. Quietly for Karlach, that is.
Yuta briefly touched the base of his corkscrew horns.
Zevlor’s arms wrapped around Yuta’s waist, holding him close, their legs tucked against one another, slightly bent at the knee. He nuzzled the back of Yuta’s neck, through the feathery caress of his raven-black hair.
Yuta’s own hands clasped over Zevlor’s at his diaphragm, feeling himself breathe.
Zevlor could feel how...thin Yuta was. His arms tightened protectively. "Is this alright?" he whispered against Yuta’s neck.
More than alright. "Yes."
He lingered in the cesspool of his intrepid thoughts. I should turn him away. He deserves better than a washed up soldier. I have nothing to offer but my sword. What could he possibly see in me?
His ridged brows furrowed. Yuta could feel him tense.
Smooth, blueish hands stroked Zevlor’s.
The exiled Rider relaxed against him. He could stave anxieties for now, if only to revel in what little delights he could. He kissed the cleric’s sweet, berry-blue skin before settling himself, nose against his nape, horns cradled just behind the younger’s skull.
Zevlor was used to being first to rise, but Yuta’s quiet snores in his arms deterred him from moving an inch.
He didn’t mind waiting, even as he heard the camp begin to stir, a few quiet remarks, Oh, where’s Zevlor? Is he still asleep? He needs it, he remained still as not to wake his precious fawn.
The warmth that housed the tent did finally stir the younger tiefling. Zevlor could feel him shudder into stretch. His eyes fluttered, lips parted. The older goat held him tightly, morning kisses against his neck, his ear.
"Did you sleep well?"
Yuta took Zevlor’s apple-red hands and kissed them, too.
"Mhm. Better than I have in ages..."
"You’re welcome to my tent anytime you like," he offered, affectionately pressing his nose against Yuta’s hair, peppering kisses.
Zevlor parted first, though reluctantly. People were asking, now.
Before he lifted the tent curtain, he paused thoughtfully, looking down as Yuta combed his hair with his fingers, watching him realize he left his brush and comb in his tent across the camp.
He, personally, did not mind nor care about what others would say. He was too old and Hell-weathered to give a damn for rumors of his love life (and, for a time, lack of one). But Yuta... He wondered, suspected even, despite the tiefling’s age if he was his first love. First kiss. The boy spoke as though he never once left the tower until his company’s current quest.
Well. The camp will behave itself or he will have words.
He waited until Yuta sat up, seemingly ready to depart. He smiled.
A few eyes on them, yes, a couple giggling. He noticed, and noted, but remained unbothered. Yuta, however, he saw look away, tail curled against his leg as he often did. Zevlor took his hands and kissed them.
"Get dressed. I’ll be here."
Yuta nodded, letting his fingers slip away as he meandered to his own tent with newly-reinforced nerves.
Good. Zevlor hoped it would be distraction enough. He glanced across to a few others. Not hostile, not yet, just a warning not to gossip too loudly. Bex and Dannis giggled as they looked away and pressed their brows together. Zevlor retreated to his tent to dress himself.
As everyone packed, nearly ready to set out again, Zevlor invited Yuta to measure distance and plan for the journey ahead.
Yuta watched Zevlor’s tail. The slight way it stiffened when he emphasized a point, the mild swish when he turned his hip just so. As Zevlor stood, examining the maps, Yuta waited for him to decide on a course of action, letting his own fur-tipped tail unravel, slowly, and sway outward like Zevlor’s. He fixated on the red thing, following it, mirroring it with his own. A subtle sway to the left, then to the right. A pause, stiff, then swayed back to the right, to the left...
Zevlor was meticulous with mapping, at least to estimate what time they had left to prepare, perhaps ration and stay an additional day dedicated to hunting. In the corner of his eye, he noticed Yuta wasn’t paying attention. Not that there was much to pay attention to – boring enough an old man stood bent at the hip over a table admiring papers. He didn’t turn fully, only watched as he realized Yuta was mirroring his tail. It stiffened, then swayed again as it reflected his realization.
He chuckled. "What are you doing?"
Yuta gasped like death came upon him, his tail thwacked against his own leg in hurried coil.
Zevlor stood straight, a hand up. "Calm yourself, I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m... Curious, is all."
"I... I just copy people’s tails, is all."
Zevlor nodded, hand on his hip. "Really?" He said absently. "Is it fun?"
Yuta cleared his throat.
"It’s... I don’t really know what to do with it sometimes. I suppose I... Want to know."
"I see. Well, you just. Let it go. It’s part of you, like any limb. It’ll do what it does. If you don’t mind me asking, Yuta... Why is it always coiled round your leg?"
The tip of his blue tail flicked out, a little twitch of fear as he saw the foreboding, armored visage of the Dark Paladin turn to him. Tail tip swished just enough to knock over a beaker, spilling it over books and cracking the glass. An armored hand tightened in his hair, dragging him down. Down the stairs, cracking his hip on the stone, into the depths of the crypt.
Zevlor almost regretted asking as Yuta’s gaze seemed to turn hollow, empty. But as soon as he noticed, it was gone.
"To stay out of the way. My parents taught me to keep it that way."
"Really? Even your mother?"
"Yes. Though, she didn’t have a tail."
"Oh?" Zevlor crossed his arms. That was rather unusual. "I didn’t know our kind could be born without them. Though, I don’t see many with hooves, either. Who knows the extent of our unique physiologies."
"Oh, no, her tail was, uhm... Removed."
Zevlor blanched. "Gods above, how?" He regretted asking as soon as the words left his mouth. It was none of his business.
Yuta wasn’t looking at him, eyes shifting elsewhere as if to escape.
Before Zevlor could retract the question, the cleric answered, "By my father. He... Didn’t like it when our tails bumped things."
Zevlor felt a fury build up in him, his jaw clench. Of course the human would be so gods-damned cruel. To remove one’s literal fucking spine from their backside. And Yuta, all his life, clinging to his tail lest he lose it, too. Horrendous. Vile.
"Ilmater's ashes, what an awful thing to do. I don’t blame you for tucking it against yourself. All the safer from such a horrible threat. I’m sorry you couldn’t leave sooner. But.. You’re here, now. Not the safest journey ahead, but at least you won’t live under threat of your body being mutilated by friends. By family." Zevlor’s hands fell to Yuta’s shoulders, soothing him. He wished he could rip away every mistreatment his tieflings have ever had the misfortune of experiencing. He wanted to hold him.
He could only imagine what other horrors the poor fawn had undergone during his raising in the Somber Spire. It was no wonder, it seemed, he got along well enough with what he knew of the rest of his party. Each of them had such mournful secrets Zevlor didn’t know the full extent of.
If he ever saw the Spire’s wizard or paladin, he would rend them through. Show them true justice. And give justice to his dear fawn.
More days turned to nights filled with song and sibling teases and children running off. One child in particular, this night, with a stolen dagger.  
Zevlor grabbed Mattis by the scruff of his shirt, lifting him effortlessly as he tiefling boy scowled.
"If you’re going to steal a blade, at least sheath the bloody thing before it becomes bloody."
He pinched his nose, knowing Mattis was just going to steal the very same one again, even as he laid it back in its sheath in the wagon.
The party gathered round the fire, nursing small wounds from Hobgoblins and Goblins. Yuta rubbed at his ankle, soothing it with a gentle healing word. He had tripped in the mud, Wyll coming to his rescue, blasting eldritch force to push back a Hobgoblin just far enough so he could help Yuta to stand on his own.
Zevlor sheathed his sword once it had been cleaned of Goblin’s blood. He checked in on each tiefling, asking if anyone was hurt. He smiled when the children, though certainly frightened by the encounter, promised him to spill Gobiln guts next time.
He patted Dammon’s and Ikaron’s shoulders, who each helped stave off Goblins from the civilian tieflings. Rolan shook his hands, still reeling from the effects of a half-cast Thunderclap. Lia and Cal teased him affectionately.  
Zevlor sighed, looking over his people, hands resting on the hilt of his sword. Everyone was safe, then. Good.
Mentally able to move on to his next task, he rummaged through the wagon where the rothké bellowed greeting at him. He patted their armored heads as they flicked their ears and shook. He pulled a toolbelt from the wagon, looping it around his waist, and pulled a few extra blankets and a pillow, re-folding them rather meticulously together as to fit better under his arm. He approached the party. Approached Yuta. He held out a hand to him, Yuta blinking.
Karlach looked on brightly, grinning giddily. Shadowheart was carefully healing her without touching her directly, though glanced with a small, knowing smile at Yuta and Zevlor.
"Come with me, won’t you? You won’t have to walk far, I promise."
Yuta nodded, taking his hand, his ankle sore but walkable.
Zevlor held his arm firmly, to help him keep balance as they wandered somewhat beyond camp. Beyond prying eyes.
The sunset was a deep, beautiful orange blaze across the sky. Yuta thought it looked like Zevlor’s eyes.