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noamuth · 2 months

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Time for Tea

Dalamus wakes from his trance in the early hours of the morning, eyes bleary and ears swiveling to take in the sounds outside. Insects are still singing their nightly song, filling the air with rhythmic trilling. Shadowheart called them crickets. At first, Dalamus found their high-pitched chirps to be irritating--especially when attempting to trance--but now they are simply the sound of the night on the surface.

He stretches his arms out to his sides with a yawn, noticing with some interest that his back is not aching. There is no pulse of pain when he pulls on his shirt, no spike of electricity racing up his spine as he stands and lifts legs to don his trousers, no warning soreness as he straightens himself and sets his piwafwi about his shoulders. Even lacing his corset and bending to lace his boots cause only the slightest twinge which quickly fades as he stands again. He feels fine. That, in itself, is suspicious, but he accepts the reprieve.

The pouch of dried Underdark mushrooms sits atop his journal. He has not used it since it had been given to him. Perhaps now is the time to change that, he thinks. He feels good. Why not make some tea and improve upon that?

He grabs the pouch and exits his tent.

All other members of camp continue to slumber in their tents, the occasional snore or mumble reaching Dalamus' sensitive ears above the chirping crickets. Even Astarion, as nocturnal as he is, appears to be in trance--he, like Dalamus, chooses times when most others are guaranteed to be asleep. The early morning is his alone to enjoy as cool, dewy air fills his lungs. Many surface dwellers seem to fear the dark, but is far more preferable than the stabbing light of the sun.

He sits on a nearby log with the mortar and pestle Gale often uses for herbs and spices, and sets several pieces of dried mushrooms into the mortar to begin grinding into powder. Dragon's Egg, Rogue's Morsel, and Funguswood will produce a bitter tea with just the right amount of spice. While its bitterness is the main draw for Dalamus, the tea also helps with minor illnesses. Nilaufein used to make this for him until he could handle the boiling water on his own, and since then, Dalamus has hardly gone longer than a week without making some. It never quite tasted the same as his brother's though.

Where Gale normally puts the cooking pot, Dalamus places the iron kettle. He pours the powdered mushrooms into the kettle, tapping the side of the mortar against the lip to ensure every bit is removed. A carafe provides the needed clean water for the tea, and then Dalamus flips the hinged lid shut and coaxes the fire to life. After boiling, at least an hour is needed for it to steep properly and obtain the bitter flavor Dalamus desires. He watches the surroundings and the sky as he waits.

He is still not used to the stars. Small, twinkling spots in the sky, like gems glistening in pitch dark stone, or glowing insects on the ceiling of a cave. Stories say that surfacers navigate by the stars, but he does not see how that is possible. How does one know which star he is looking at when there are so many? He knows vaguely of the Astral Plane, but thinking about it makes his chest tight with unease. He misses when his world was small and bearable, when all of the other peoples and Planes were so far removed from being his problem that they may as well not exist.

In Menzoberranzan, the time of day is shown by Narbondel. The Archmage heats a circular band of the stone to cause a glow, which moves upwards throughout the day until it reaches the top and dissipates entirely at midnight. On the surface, time is measured by the sun and moon, and to a lesser extent, the activity of animals. At night the crickets chirp, but as the night shifts closer to morning, the birds start to sing until only the birds sing and the crickets can be heard no more.

Soon the stars begin to fade and the sky changes color, clouds being lit from underneath in oranges and red as the sun peeks over the horizon. As the sky brightens, Dalamus finds that looking at it both hurts and still elicits a dizziness and nausea in him. He pulls the hood of his piwafwi over his head and focuses on the tea.

Once it has finished steeping, Dalamus stands and quells the fire--the iron kettle will keep it plenty warm over the next hour or so. Dark liquid pours smoothly into his mug, and the smell reminds him of home. He takes a sip of the bitter drink and thinks of business days started early and bazaar stalls lined up neatly, of people from all walks of life--poor, wealthy, Menzoberranyr, colnbluth and kivven alike--browsing Drowic wares with great interest, and of sick days soothed while his bother, Nilaufein, checks him for fever. And although the tea is not as good as the tea his brother once made, it warms him all the same.

A familiar yawn reaches his pointed ears, one swiveling to listen more closely. Gale has just awoken, and judging from the crunch of grass underfoot, he is heading this way. Dalamus does not allow his approach to disturb him, although he stands a bit too close for comfort.

"Do not stand behind me, Gale," he warns coolly.

"Right, sorry, still rubbing the sleep from my eyes. Good morning, Dalamus." Gale moves to inspect the kettle, taking in the aroma. Curiosity quirks his brow. "What sort of tea is it, if I may ask?"

"Dragon's Egg tea," Dalamus answers, taking another sip as he watches the wizard. Although Gale is far from harmless, Dalamus is slowly realizing that the man is more excitable than he is violent. With his eagerness to indulge curiosity, but deliberate refusal to anger severely, he makes himself an easy target for mischief with low risk of retaliation. Amusing.

Gale's sleepy eyes suddenly light up. "Like the mushroom? Fascinating. I've certainly had my fair share of teas--herbal, floral, and fungal alike--but don't believe I've had any made with mushrooms from the Underdark."

"If you have not had tea made by Drow, you have not had Drowic tea."

"Of course. Which begs the question... May I try some?" Gale hesitates so slightly, but his brows lift with hope.

Dalamus glances at the wizard, red eyes scanning, scheming. Letting Gale try some tea might prove entertaining. "Are you allergic to funguswood?"

"...Not that I'm aware. Why..?"

"I would hate to be accused of a murder I did not plan, is all." A sip from his mug exudes nonchalance.

"Ah. Your concern for my well-being is truly overwhelming, as always."

"By all means, please, have some tea."

Rather than appearing glad, Gale's mouth quirks slightly in suspicion. He tilts his head and crosses his arms. "...I expected more resistance. You're unusually quick to share this morning. Is there something you're not telling me?"

Dalamus lifts his face from his tea and smiles at the wizard in a show of sincerity. "And why not share? Today is a good day. I slept well, and now I get to share a taste of my home with my.. unlikely companions." His voice is smooth, polite.

Suspicions ease, albeit hesitantly, and Gale relaxes, grabbing himself a mug. The tableware items in camp are worn, obviously secondhand. Possibly third or fourth hand. But despite their chipped edges and faded designs, they do the job well enough for the ragtag group of survivors.

"It smells almost medicinal," Gale says, gently wafting the steam towards his face. His nose scrunches slightly, but he brings the mug to his lips, blows gently to cool it, and takes a sip. It is bitter. It is very bitter, and distinctly fungal, with a slight kick of spice. At no point is there any hint of sweetness that might smother the desire to spit it out.

He swallows, almost reluctantly, as if his very body wants to reject the liquid. "Well!" Gale exclaims with feigned pleasantry. "That'll wake you up. It's, uh.. well, it certainly is pungent. Suppose it makes sense for a people who rely on various fungi in their cuisine to have a taste for it. I'm afraid my palate isn't quite suited to the.. flavor. Perhaps it'll grow on me. Y'know.. because it's... Anyway. Tell me more about it. If you don't mind, that is." He brings the mug to his lips again, continuing to drink the bitter liquid even as the flavor elicits a frown.

For a moment, Dalamus is unsure how to feel as he watches the wizard sip at the Dragon's Egg tea. Despite obviously disliking it, Gale continues to drink... Why?

He is also increasingly aware that others in camp are beginning to wake. A few have wandered over within listening range, but presumably have no interest in trying the tea for the experience in the same way Gale is.

"It is a tea one of my brothers taught me how to make, especially good for slight illnesses of the throat and nose. The combination of mushrooms can help alleviate minor pain and reduce fever, as well as ease stomach upset. Funguswood allergies can be deadly, however. There is a small amount of funguswood, some Rogue's Morsel, Dragon's Egg..." He peers up at Gale's face before continuing. "..Bonecap."

With a shocked sputter, Gale immediately and unceremoniously spits out the tea, wiping his lips as his face pales at the thought of being poisoned.

A bark of triumphant laughter bursts from Dalamus, and on the other side of camp, Astarion erupts into cackles and giggles. Some other camp members smirk, while yet others roll their eyes at the display.

Gale recovers and wipes at his face, brow furrowed and tea dripping from his beard. He aims a glare at the chuckling elves, exasperation tempered by relief. "Having a laugh, are we? Hilarious. Well, I think I've had my fill of tea and Drowic hospitality for today, thank you, and will be returning to my books until someone needs me." The wizard half-stomps his way back to his tent, shaking tea from his hands and exclaiming about errant droplets having stained his robe.

Dalamus simply grins triumphantly to himself and sips from his mug. Delicious.

#missy writing #strighym story #drowic spoken #colnbluth = outsiders #kivven = surfacers #nilaufein #gale

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dragonbleps · 9 months

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Heart of Stone

You wake.

Stars still twinkle overhead, and the crickets chirping around you promise several more hours before dawn. Soft breaths and the occasional snore from your various companions puts you at ease. No excitement for tonight.

Heard even over the sounds of the nightly insects is the grating rhythm of stone against grit. Dalamus works at his tent, grinding a piece of agate into a cabochon. Unlike the others, Dalamus had set up his tent far from the center, presumably to have a full view of the camp, either out of protectiveness or distrust. You presume the latter. He never left the tent for long, not even to sleep. Do Drow sleep?

Astarion is awake, as well, yet remains at his own tent, implying that nocturnal camaraderie is not the reason for his and Dalamus' overlapping watch. Why, then, waste sleeping hours? A generous onlooker might interpret their tandem watchfulness as an overabundance of caution, having backup should a problem arise. The occasional annoyed glance from Astarion in Dalamus' direction pushes the thought from your mind.

Sounds of grinding stone and crunching sand stop as Dalamus inspects his gem for scratches and inclusions. He takes a moment to observe his surroundings, red eyes scanning the campsite and beyond for any signs of disturbance. For your protection? Or his own? You cannot say for certain. His eyes meet yours, and for a moment your pulse quickens, filling with apprehension from a source unknown and unwanted. Unfortunately, you cannot say it is wholly unwarranted, either.

Dalamus' gaze leaves your face and he returns to his task, allowing you the chance to breathe. If any would-be attackers felt half of the apprehension you had in the gaze of your supposed companion, none would dare approach. Dalamus cleans his work station with some water and lays out the next level of grit, wets the agate, and begins grinding once more.

There is a groan of exasperation from Astarion, followed by him complaining about the grating noise. Dalamus is unfazed and, decidedly unwilling to give the High Elf the courtesy of eye contact, responds lowly in Drowic. "Dosst ssivah jaaele mzildur."

Astarion makes a scandalized huff. Whether he understands Drowic or simply assumes insult, you do not know. Either way, he settles back into his tent with a sour expression, arms crossed, and you cannot help the amusement that tugs at the corners of your mouth.

You roll onto your back and stare up at the stars again, closing your eyes. It takes a moment for Dalamus' red eyes to fade from your memory, but you force yourself to relax. You should be safe at least for tonight.

Chips Away

You wake.

Clouds obscure the stars, but the moon's glowing silhouette directly overhead assures you there is still plenty of time to sleep. Most of your companions doze quietly around you. One person turns from their back onto their side, but does not wake. It is peaceful.

The steady rhythm of stone against stone tells you Dalamus is polishing yet again tonight. Something green, judging by the flashes in the torchlight. His tent remains far from the center where everyone else has gathered, but you suspect it is to prevent disturbing the others' sleep. Perhaps.

Except for Astarion, also awake, reading a book at his tent. Or trying. It seems he and Dalamus are both night owls, and refuse to give up their nocturnal quiet time to the other. You suppose, in the end, two pairs of eyes are better than one for keeping watch in the dark.

Sudden silence, as Dalamus picks up his stone and cleans it of grit to determine his progress. He peers up from his work to survey the grounds, making sure his focus on his hobby does not blind him to dangers. His eyes come to rest on your face, and he tilts his head slightly, perhaps wondering why you are awake. If only you had an answer for him. Instead, you smile.

Dalamus' pointed ears prick upwards ever so slightly, but he looks away, unsure how to respond. His attention returns to the stone in front of him, but not before you catch him glancing furtively in your direction once. And then again. He scrubs the grit from his stone with a small brush and some water, resetting his work station to begin the next stage of polishing. It might be a trick of the light, but you could swear his shoulders are not as stiff as before.

Astarion pushes himself to his feet and asks how much longer the accursed screeching will last. Dalamus regards him with a mild scowl, but answers. "An hour at most. You will survive."

The High Elf drags a hand down his face and begins walking off, mumbling about getting something to eat. Now that he mentions it, hunger is beginning to gnaw at your stomach, as well. But the call of sleep is stronger.

You wriggle yourself into a comfortable position on your side and close your eyes, trying to imagine what shape the stone will take when Dalamus is done. The sound of stone polishing is far from melodic, yet it is familiar, and therefore comforting. It means he is awake, and watching. And you feel safe.

To Reveal Gold

You wake.

The stars are bright in the sky, and the moon full enough to light the camp without the need for fire. Grasses sway and trees rustle in the cool midnight breeze. The only thing punctuating the relative silence is the soft snore of a companion opposite the snuffed campfire from you. It is too quiet.

You sit up and wipe the sleep from your eyes. Gone is the grinding noise which you had begun to find comfort in. Dalamus' tent is set up, and his stone polishing materials are out, but the Drow himself is nowhere to be seen. The only thing keeping you from fearing the worst is Astarion, awake and relaxed at his own tent.

The sound of faint crunching reaches your ears, of dirt and grass under boots, and you look over your shoulder to find Dalamus approaching. At his side is a small waterskin still dripping from immersion in the nearby river. He stops once he notices you, red eyes scanning your face. "Is something the matter?" he asks, possibly the first time you have heard him express explicit concern for another outside of injury in combat.

"I'm fine," you assure. "I'm so used to hearing you work, that when I awoke to silence I became worried. I didn't know where you had gone, is all."

Dalamus appears surprised at your concern. After all, there are plenty of others in camp. Astarion is awake to keep watch. He knows you are capable of defending yourself.

"I am here," he says finally, but confusion colors his tone, as if he has never considered his presence might be desirable. Not in a genuine sense, anyway. Useful, perhaps, with his darkvision and heightened hearing. But this is not that. He senses it. And he does not know what to do with it.

"I'm glad you're here. Goodnight, Dalamus."

His eyes widen and his pointed ears swivel away. Rather than say anything and risk revealing emotions he has no name for, Dalamus nods and begins towards his tent.

You lay down on your back and close your eyes, listening. He is at the final stage of polishing for tonight's stone; no more harsh grinding. But it is enough to know that he is there.

You hear a teasing comment from Astarion, followed by an exclamation of pain and a clatter from something small Dalamus has thrown at him. You smile. You are safe.

......

You wake.

It is the early hours of dawn. The moon and stars have almost disappeared entirely, but the sun is not yet risen and neither have your companions. The birds are beginning their calls as the air begins to warm.

A glint of light catches your eye and you turn your head to find a brilliantly polished opal cabochon beside your bedroll. A gift. Even more astounding, Dalamus sleeps facing you but a few feet away. You have never seen him sleep until now. Sleep meant vulnerability, and Dalamus trusts almost no one.

Except you.

You dare not touch him for fear of breaking this trust. Perhaps when he wakes he will distance himself again. But for now, he is here, and he is safe.

#I wanted to experiment with the 2nd-person point of view like the narration of BG3 #so here's a story about an unspecified character observing Dalamus throughout a period of.. idk. weeks?#going from stranger (Heart of Stone) to friend (Chips Away) to close (To Reveal Gold)#the general repetition is purposeful to highlight the subtle changing of Dal's behavior #i have to keep the setting/timeline vague bc.. i haven't gone past the Emerald Grove yet :'D #missy rambles #missy writing #my oc #dalamus drow #drowamus #i guess i could use his (previous) full name so that i have an official tag for him. even though he doesnt have the surname anymore #dalamus strighym #bg3 #OH. and as for what Dal said to Astarion in the first part: ''Your voice grates more'' lmao

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