mickume/dnd_drow · Datasets at Hugging Face

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"Aethelflaed, so help me Helm, shut the fuck up right now."
Aethelle clung to Astarion as she roared with laughter. It was infectious, for soon they were all laughing along with her, even Ryn.
Aethelle sat on the stone bench in the garden behind her home. The granite was cooling as she ran her hand along it. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath of the night air. The breeze rustled the leaves of the hedges, and the fountain in the center of the garden softly dripped water. There was no moon tonight, only dark clouds in front of an either darker sky.
She pulled her knees to her chest, and rested her head against the black cloth of her pants. It was almost too cold outside, at least for her in her silken white blouse. The strap fell from her shoulder as she leaned in, peering at her black sandals.
"I thought I might find you out here," the paladin called out from the garden path. "Might I sit with you?"
"Of course," smiled the sorceress. The metal of Ryn's armor clanked against the stone.
"Will you be all right?" he said softly. "It has been quite some time since you stood in the Zantharen estate."
"I hope I will be," she said faintly. She felt her stomach twist and her eyes begin to well up. Ryn heard her breath shake, and pulled her in close for a hug, her head resting against his chest.
"Are you scared?" he asked.
"Yes," she replied instantly. "But not in the way you might think."
"And what way is that?"
"I am not scared to face him, to make him pay for what he's done," said Aethelle with certainty in her tone. "He made his choice a long time ago. That will never change." The sorceress rubbed her knees as she spoke.
"I am scared," she said, her voice breaking, "to take the life of someone I once loved so."
Ryn looked down at her in his surprise. "He did not love you, Aethelle," he whispered softly.
"No, he did not," she murmured, the tears silently falling down her cheeks. "But at some point, he did. That much I know is true."
"Someone who really loved you would not have hurt you so." The paladin gently rubbed the sorceress's back.
"It is a rather cruel form of heartbreak, don't you think?" Aethelle wiped the tears from her cheeks, but only more came. "To be tortured all this time by thoughts of how someone acted before they did something unspeakable to you. As if it justifies their means."
Ryn stayed silent.
"Do you remember," Aethelle began, laughing through her sobs, "the day you brought me the book on sorcery when we were children?"
Ryn grinned. "How could I forget? I found it at The Wide with my family and spent the last of my pin money on it. So I was rather upset when I couldn't get a snack like I had planned." Aethelle laughed even harder.
"It was your favorite color," reminisced Ryn. "Bound in dark red canvas, if I remember right."
"Indeed you are."
"I crawled under the brick wall to see you, and brought it to you," Ryn chuckled, "thinking it might help if you read about sorcery."
"And I was so mad," said Aethelle, leaning back up now that she was free of tears, "that you thought a book would cause my powers to finally show."
"And after you hit me a few times with it, I explained to you that I knew you would get them eventually, and all you had to do was wait." Ryn met her gaze, his smile beaming.
"It was actually quite a good book," she said as she lazily bumped his shoulder with her fist. "It was helpful indeed, when I lay in my bed, trying to hide from the world."
Ryn snickered. "Do you remember the time I slipped and fell in the bath while I was preparing it for you?"
"Oh gods," Aethelle's laugh rang out. "I thought you'd drown in all that armor!"
"It was a bath, not a lake!" Ryn playfully rubbed his fist on the top of Aethelle's head. She laughed, lightly slapping him away. When there was nothing left to hear but the fountain in the gardens and the rustling of the hedges once more, Ryn finally broke the silence.
"There are people here who do love you," he said faintly. "I love you."
"I know. I love you, too."
The two elves sat in their embrace for a long time, listening to nothing but the running water and the gentle breeze, as they had done so many times before.
"My love, you should probably feed before tomorrow comes," said the sorceress, holding the rogue in her arms. They laid lazily on the bed as he read from her journal, and she played with his silver curls.
"How could I, when I have so much of your life to catch up on?" Astarion looked up at her with big crimson eyes, and Aethelle gently kissed his forehead.
"At least tell me your thoughts on my entries, then."
"Well, I see a few grammatical errors—"
"Not like that!" Aethelle interrupted him, laughing and delicately pinching his arm. "Tell me what you think of the events I wrote of!"
"It’s strange," murmured Astarion. "The more I read, the more I wish I was written in the pages with you," he said softly.
"I wish you were, too," she whispered.
"How my life would have been different were you there from the start."
"And yours in mine."
Astarion flipped over in her arms, peering up at her from the safety of her chest.
"How fortunate then, that we at least met at all," he said softly. "Though I wish we crossed paths before I was this."
"I’d have loved you just the same," said Aethelle, clutching him closely to her.
"I know," he whispered. "That’s what makes it hurt worse."
The two lovers stared at each other in the silence for a moment, their hearts pained at the hypotheticals.
"Astarion," the sorceress’s breath hitched. "I want to talk to you about something."
He sat himself up, facing her.
"I... you will live forever. Maybe there’s something I can do to—"
"We have time, my dear." He tucked a strand of hair behind her pointed ear. "Don’t you fret about things far off from now."
"Would you judge me," she began as she averted his gaze, "if I told you I’ve thought of a few solutions?"
"I could never judge you. I would be flattered to know you want forever with me," he said softly. "But you know as well as I do, that that kind of power comes at a cost." He cupped her face in his hands, bringing his forehead to hers.
"I would be a terrible lover indeed, after you talked me out of accursed ritual, to let you do the same to yourself."
"You’re right," whispered Aethelle, dodging his gaze. "I’m sorry."
"You have nothing to apologize for," said Astarion, kissing her forehead. "How could I fault you for wanting more time?"
She nodded, blinking away her tears.
"You helped free me, my love," he said as he pulled her head into his chest. "You helped free me from so much. And I will be here to do the same for you."
They sat still for awhile, Astarion softly running his hand through her black hair. She held him tightly, as if the Hells themselves would suddenly open up and swallow him whole.
Without warning, she sat up quickly, poking herself in the neck.
"You better start drinking, then! We have a wizard to kill tomorrow!"
Astarion laughed and obeyed, his fangs softly breaking her skin. The sorceress closed her eyes, her thoughts drifting to the night the vampire once again became his own person.
The sorceress was exhausted and rattled after their confrontation with Cazador. Aethelle sat on the dock in their camp, watching the moonlight ripple over the waves of the water. She had been going through a silent turmoil for weeks, wondering if Astarion would go through the ritual or not. It was not her decision to make, so she abstained from telling him her opinion. But she knew, having seen it before in her former lover, what the grandiose power would do to him.
The events of the day kept replaying in Aethelle's head. The palace was an unyielding and harrowing torment. It seemed like around every corner they turned, some kind of new horror popped up. She had merely walked through the halls and felt disturbed like none other, yet Astarion had been held captive there for two hundred years and subject to an unending abuse. The extent of his torture was unfathomable. Yet here she was, privileged that she only spent a day there, and not a few centuries.
She would never forget the way Astarion looked at her as he begged her to connect their minds via the tadpole so he could carve the infernal runes into Cazador's back, therefore taking the ritual for himself. She had felt like the ultimate betrayer, standing her ground as her body shuddered, telling him she could not help him. Somehow her voice had spoken, proclaiming that this power would trap him just like it did his former master. For a few uncertain moments, she waited to die again at the hands of a lover tempted by power. But she could also never forget the way he looked at her when he realized her words were grounded in truth.
"You know, I see the wheels turning in your head. Any longer, and it might roll away," the druid said from behind her, before taking her place next to Aethelle on the dock.
"Yes, the palace was quite disenchanting," the sorceress smiled. "Seems it's given me time to reflect."
"They say that the only thing a vampire can feel is hunger," began Jaheira, holding her own hands in her lap. "Nothing else touches them, not grief, or mercy. Or any sense of what is just." Aethelle looked at her quizzically.
The druid smiled. "Who knows. There is often more ignorance than insight in what "they" say."
"It seems there must be much ignorance in the world, indeed," replied Aethelle, speaking with shaky breath.
"Yet not in the little cub who stood by him all this time, despite his nature, deciding he was more than the monster he was made to be." Jaheira placed a hand on Aethelle's shoulder, staring deeply into her.
"I won't pretend to know all of your life, cub. But I've lived long enough to know there's more to you than you let on. Perhaps I am just putting words in your mouth, but I think there was more to this to you, than just pushing your lover in the right direction."
Aethelle's eyes widened before darting away, staring at the water once more, as if she could hide from Jaheira's gaze.
"And you did well. It is an honor to be by your side, and to be your counsel."
"Thank you, Jaheira."
"Now go, I imagine he wants to see you. I'll keep watch tonight."
Jaheira stood up, offering Aethelle a hand. As the sorceress rose to her feet, she dusted the gravel from her black cloth pants and straightened the straps on her blouse.
"You look fine. Go," laughed Jaheira, squeezing the sorceress's hand before walking away.
Aethelle took a deep breath and walked over to the red tent. She could see it was partially open, his silver curls peeking out from behind the canvas. As she approached, Astarion emerged and stood to meet her.
"I should probably start getting used to the shadows again," he said softly. "Who knows how long I have left in the sun?"
Aethelle looked at her lover with wide eyes. "You did the right thing, stopping the ritual."
"I know," he exhaled. "That doesn't mean it stings any less. Maybe never seeing the sun again is just the price of freedom."
"I'll be with you either way. I hope you know that."
"I think I do," said Astarion, looking at her lovingly. "Assuming we survive of course. Because a horrible death is always just around the corner with you."
The two elves laughed delicately in the silence of the night.
Astarion cleared his throat. "There's... something I'd like to show you, if that's all right? Something out in the city."
"Of course," she smiled. "Lead on."
"This way," he gestured to the cobble path. "It's not far."
The rogue offered her his arm, and the two walked closely together out of the camp. As they walked down the quiet streets, the dim candlelight around them seemed a little brighter, somehow. Aethelle rested her head on Astarion's shoulder as they went, and closed her eyes. If the horrible death would indeed take her tomorrow, at least she could rest knowing she helped free the person she held so dear. Astarion kissed her head, and the two of them were silent as they walked.
The silence continued as they eventually made their way into a graveyard, nestled between the buildings, with nary a soul in sight. It would have been easy to miss the path into the cemetery during the day, let alone during the evening. For him to have so easily found the way, he must have been here before. He walked ahead of her for a moment, and the sorceress kept quiet, waiting for him to explain.
As he kneeled at a vine-covered tombstone, he brushed the foliage away, revealing the engraving in the stone.
Astarion Ancunín
Astarion dusted off his hands, before taking his place next to her.
"Nearly two hundred years," began Astarion in a hushed tone, "and I never came back. Not since the night I woke up down there."
Aethelle kept quiet, listening intently.
"I had to punch a hole in the coffin," he continued, staring at the headstone, "and claw my way through six feet of dirt."
His brow furrowed. "Then, when I finally broke the surface, retching up dirt and congealed blood..." The rogue paused and exhaled deeply.
"Cazador was waiting."
She felt tears returning to her eyes.
"From that day on, I was his. Until today."
"How does it feel to be free?" she asked softly.

"Aethelflaed, so help me Helm, shut the fuck up right now."

Aethelle clung to Astarion as she roared with laughter. It was infectious, for soon they were all laughing along with her, even Ryn.

Aethelle sat on the stone bench in the garden behind her home. The granite was cooling as she ran her hand along it. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath of the night air. The breeze rustled the leaves of the hedges, and the fountain in the center of the garden softly dripped water. There was no moon tonight, only dark clouds in front of an either darker sky.

She pulled her knees to her chest, and rested her head against the black cloth of her pants. It was almost too cold outside, at least for her in her silken white blouse. The strap fell from her shoulder as she leaned in, peering at her black sandals.

"I thought I might find you out here," the paladin called out from the garden path. "Might I sit with you?"

"Of course," smiled the sorceress. The metal of Ryn's armor clanked against the stone.

"Will you be all right?" he said softly. "It has been quite some time since you stood in the Zantharen estate."

"I hope I will be," she said faintly. She felt her stomach twist and her eyes begin to well up. Ryn heard her breath shake, and pulled her in close for a hug, her head resting against his chest.

"Are you scared?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied instantly. "But not in the way you might think."

"And what way is that?"

"I am not scared to face him, to make him pay for what he's done," said Aethelle with certainty in her tone. "He made his choice a long time ago. That will never change." The sorceress rubbed her knees as she spoke.

"I am scared," she said, her voice breaking, "to take the life of someone I once loved so."

Ryn looked down at her in his surprise. "He did not love you, Aethelle," he whispered softly.

"No, he did not," she murmured, the tears silently falling down her cheeks. "But at some point, he did. That much I know is true."

"Someone who really loved you would not have hurt you so." The paladin gently rubbed the sorceress's back.

"It is a rather cruel form of heartbreak, don't you think?" Aethelle wiped the tears from her cheeks, but only more came. "To be tortured all this time by thoughts of how someone acted before they did something unspeakable to you. As if it justifies their means."

Ryn stayed silent.

"Do you remember," Aethelle began, laughing through her sobs, "the day you brought me the book on sorcery when we were children?"

Ryn grinned. "How could I forget? I found it at The Wide with my family and spent the last of my pin money on it. So I was rather upset when I couldn't get a snack like I had planned." Aethelle laughed even harder.

"It was your favorite color," reminisced Ryn. "Bound in dark red canvas, if I remember right."

"Indeed you are."

"I crawled under the brick wall to see you, and brought it to you," Ryn chuckled, "thinking it might help if you read about sorcery."

"And I was so mad," said Aethelle, leaning back up now that she was free of tears, "that you thought a book would cause my powers to finally show."

"And after you hit me a few times with it, I explained to you that I knew you would get them eventually, and all you had to do was wait." Ryn met her gaze, his smile beaming.

"It was actually quite a good book," she said as she lazily bumped his shoulder with her fist. "It was helpful indeed, when I lay in my bed, trying to hide from the world."

Ryn snickered. "Do you remember the time I slipped and fell in the bath while I was preparing it for you?"

"Oh gods," Aethelle's laugh rang out. "I thought you'd drown in all that armor!"

"It was a bath, not a lake!" Ryn playfully rubbed his fist on the top of Aethelle's head. She laughed, lightly slapping him away. When there was nothing left to hear but the fountain in the gardens and the rustling of the hedges once more, Ryn finally broke the silence.

"There are people here who do love you," he said faintly. "I love you."

"I know. I love you, too."

The two elves sat in their embrace for a long time, listening to nothing but the running water and the gentle breeze, as they had done so many times before.

"My love, you should probably feed before tomorrow comes," said the sorceress, holding the rogue in her arms. They laid lazily on the bed as he read from her journal, and she played with his silver curls.

"How could I, when I have so much of your life to catch up on?" Astarion looked up at her with big crimson eyes, and Aethelle gently kissed his forehead.

"At least tell me your thoughts on my entries, then."

"Well, I see a few grammatical errors—"

"Not like that!" Aethelle interrupted him, laughing and delicately pinching his arm. "Tell me what you think of the events I wrote of!"

"It’s strange," murmured Astarion. "The more I read, the more I wish I was written in the pages with you," he said softly.

"I wish you were, too," she whispered.

"How my life would have been different were you there from the start."

"And yours in mine."

Astarion flipped over in her arms, peering up at her from the safety of her chest.

"How fortunate then, that we at least met at all," he said softly. "Though I wish we crossed paths before I was this."

"I’d have loved you just the same," said Aethelle, clutching him closely to her.

"I know," he whispered. "That’s what makes it hurt worse."

The two lovers stared at each other in the silence for a moment, their hearts pained at the hypotheticals.

"Astarion," the sorceress’s breath hitched. "I want to talk to you about something."

He sat himself up, facing her.

"I... you will live forever. Maybe there’s something I can do to—"

"We have time, my dear." He tucked a strand of hair behind her pointed ear. "Don’t you fret about things far off from now."

"Would you judge me," she began as she averted his gaze, "if I told you I’ve thought of a few solutions?"

"I could never judge you. I would be flattered to know you want forever with me," he said softly. "But you know as well as I do, that that kind of power comes at a cost." He cupped her face in his hands, bringing his forehead to hers.

"I would be a terrible lover indeed, after you talked me out of accursed ritual, to let you do the same to yourself."

"You’re right," whispered Aethelle, dodging his gaze. "I’m sorry."

"You have nothing to apologize for," said Astarion, kissing her forehead. "How could I fault you for wanting more time?"

She nodded, blinking away her tears.

"You helped free me, my love," he said as he pulled her head into his chest. "You helped free me from so much. And I will be here to do the same for you."

They sat still for awhile, Astarion softly running his hand through her black hair. She held him tightly, as if the Hells themselves would suddenly open up and swallow him whole.

Without warning, she sat up quickly, poking herself in the neck.

"You better start drinking, then! We have a wizard to kill tomorrow!"

Astarion laughed and obeyed, his fangs softly breaking her skin. The sorceress closed her eyes, her thoughts drifting to the night the vampire once again became his own person.

The sorceress was exhausted and rattled after their confrontation with Cazador. Aethelle sat on the dock in their camp, watching the moonlight ripple over the waves of the water. She had been going through a silent turmoil for weeks, wondering if Astarion would go through the ritual or not. It was not her decision to make, so she abstained from telling him her opinion. But she knew, having seen it before in her former lover, what the grandiose power would do to him.

The events of the day kept replaying in Aethelle's head. The palace was an unyielding and harrowing torment. It seemed like around every corner they turned, some kind of new horror popped up. She had merely walked through the halls and felt disturbed like none other, yet Astarion had been held captive there for two hundred years and subject to an unending abuse. The extent of his torture was unfathomable. Yet here she was, privileged that she only spent a day there, and not a few centuries.

She would never forget the way Astarion looked at her as he begged her to connect their minds via the tadpole so he could carve the infernal runes into Cazador's back, therefore taking the ritual for himself. She had felt like the ultimate betrayer, standing her ground as her body shuddered, telling him she could not help him. Somehow her voice had spoken, proclaiming that this power would trap him just like it did his former master. For a few uncertain moments, she waited to die again at the hands of a lover tempted by power. But she could also never forget the way he looked at her when he realized her words were grounded in truth.

"You know, I see the wheels turning in your head. Any longer, and it might roll away," the druid said from behind her, before taking her place next to Aethelle on the dock.

"Yes, the palace was quite disenchanting," the sorceress smiled. "Seems it's given me time to reflect."

"They say that the only thing a vampire can feel is hunger," began Jaheira, holding her own hands in her lap. "Nothing else touches them, not grief, or mercy. Or any sense of what is just." Aethelle looked at her quizzically.

The druid smiled. "Who knows. There is often more ignorance than insight in what "they" say."

"It seems there must be much ignorance in the world, indeed," replied Aethelle, speaking with shaky breath.

"Yet not in the little cub who stood by him all this time, despite his nature, deciding he was more than the monster he was made to be." Jaheira placed a hand on Aethelle's shoulder, staring deeply into her.

"I won't pretend to know all of your life, cub. But I've lived long enough to know there's more to you than you let on. Perhaps I am just putting words in your mouth, but I think there was more to this to you, than just pushing your lover in the right direction."

Aethelle's eyes widened before darting away, staring at the water once more, as if she could hide from Jaheira's gaze.

"And you did well. It is an honor to be by your side, and to be your counsel."

"Thank you, Jaheira."

"Now go, I imagine he wants to see you. I'll keep watch tonight."

Jaheira stood up, offering Aethelle a hand. As the sorceress rose to her feet, she dusted the gravel from her black cloth pants and straightened the straps on her blouse.

"You look fine. Go," laughed Jaheira, squeezing the sorceress's hand before walking away.

Aethelle took a deep breath and walked over to the red tent. She could see it was partially open, his silver curls peeking out from behind the canvas. As she approached, Astarion emerged and stood to meet her.

"I should probably start getting used to the shadows again," he said softly. "Who knows how long I have left in the sun?"

Aethelle looked at her lover with wide eyes. "You did the right thing, stopping the ritual."

"I know," he exhaled. "That doesn't mean it stings any less. Maybe never seeing the sun again is just the price of freedom."

"I'll be with you either way. I hope you know that."

"I think I do," said Astarion, looking at her lovingly. "Assuming we survive of course. Because a horrible death is always just around the corner with you."

The two elves laughed delicately in the silence of the night.

Astarion cleared his throat. "There's... something I'd like to show you, if that's all right? Something out in the city."

"Of course," she smiled. "Lead on."

"This way," he gestured to the cobble path. "It's not far."

The rogue offered her his arm, and the two walked closely together out of the camp. As they walked down the quiet streets, the dim candlelight around them seemed a little brighter, somehow. Aethelle rested her head on Astarion's shoulder as they went, and closed her eyes. If the horrible death would indeed take her tomorrow, at least she could rest knowing she helped free the person she held so dear. Astarion kissed her head, and the two of them were silent as they walked.

The silence continued as they eventually made their way into a graveyard, nestled between the buildings, with nary a soul in sight. It would have been easy to miss the path into the cemetery during the day, let alone during the evening. For him to have so easily found the way, he must have been here before. He walked ahead of her for a moment, and the sorceress kept quiet, waiting for him to explain.

As he kneeled at a vine-covered tombstone, he brushed the foliage away, revealing the engraving in the stone.

Astarion Ancunín

Astarion dusted off his hands, before taking his place next to her.

"Nearly two hundred years," began Astarion in a hushed tone, "and I never came back. Not since the night I woke up down there."

Aethelle kept quiet, listening intently.

"I had to punch a hole in the coffin," he continued, staring at the headstone, "and claw my way through six feet of dirt."

His brow furrowed. "Then, when I finally broke the surface, retching up dirt and congealed blood..." The rogue paused and exhaled deeply.

"Cazador was waiting."

She felt tears returning to her eyes.

"From that day on, I was his. Until today."

"How does it feel to be free?" she asked softly.