Llavilas

Duergar warlock, class of 741 CE at the School of Seven Bells. Senior project: incredibly involved research paper on planar history. Fought in the 829 CE Ythrak conflict. Current status: unknown.

ONE

So it’s your first day at the School of Seven Bells, blah blah blah, huge honor, big deal, and you’d be totally into it if you weren’t so goddamned hungover. Gods above. You have no earthly idea what you drank last night.

This always happens when you party with extraplanar beings. Somebody brings out a vat of some real weird shit, some five-dimensional anti-liquid or whatever, and then it’s a real nice time right up until it isn’t. Your dad was on some classic shit when he dropped you off at school - blah blah, I’m very disappointed in you, blah blah, family reputation to uphold. You’re the fifth of your siblings to attend the illustrious School of Seven Bells, and they’ve all done great things and won awards and whatever. You figure the family reputation can stand one duergar (deep-earth dwarf) who just wants to have a good time.

You’ve sorta been dreading the “classmate” aspect of it all. Who voluntarily goes to wizard school? Buncha freaks, probably. Buncha nerds who don’t know how to party. Thank heavens you’re a whiz at teleporting and can fuck off to the outer planes whenever you want - there’s always something cool going on in the outer planes. Plus your buddy Arlowe (dark elf, kind of a weird dude) promised to visit you a lot, which means he’s gonna randomly crash in your room all the time and get you in trouble. You’re looking forward to it.

Your celestial patron is driving you crazy. The whole point of being a warlock is not studying, right, your powers are supposed to just be a gift from your patron, but noooo, she’s all “go to school and learn some shit or I’ll cut off your magic.” Whatever. She’s been around since you were born, she oughta know you’re not the studying type. You will very pointedly do the bare minimum and nothing more.

You are a young male duergar warlock. Your hair is luscious and you are incredibly hungover. Your name is Llavilas.

TWO

Things - haven’t been as bad as you expected! Things are actually going pretty good!

You still have no idea what your senior thesis will be. Kinda sucks, cause everybody else is full-steam-ahead on their shit. Whatever. Right now you’re just settling into your role as Resident Cool Guy. You study the planes, you shuttle people to the choicest parties, and you’re always down for one of Josefa’s pranks, and the caf is open 24/7 and life is good.

The outer planes, though, those aren’t good. Your regular hangout spots are all empty, and half your party pals are just - gone. Nobody talks about why. Even your buddy Arlowe is gone. He signed on to fight with the aasimar military - said some shit about responsibility and the greater good and, well. You don’t remember too clearly. He’s just gone, and now every party just reminds you of everybody who’s missing. Pretty fucked up.

One person who’s not gone, though, is your freaking patron. She’s really on your ass these days. Keeps telling you to ‘gather your strength’ and ‘watch the burning wheel’, a bunch of real weird shit, and it’s…. so… irritating. What does that even mean.

Your friends are so stupid and you like them so much. Ypsi is the sister you didn’t ask for, Kiirgo is a whackjob but BOY Kiirgo’s great at parties, Valinor is insufferable but weirdly, like, reliable? He’s always there if you ask him to be. And Ykara is a little bit scary, but it’s so cute how she hangs out with Cheery. Like watching a direwolf whose best friend is a kitten. Josefa’s so great. Weird little lady. These days you spend more time with the Seven Bells crew than you do with your outer-plane buds. Wonders never cease.

THREE

It’s been two years since your patron stopped talking to you. You don’t think she’s intentionally giving you the silent treatment - your magic is still there, but she used to yell at you all the time, and now she doesn’t, and the silence is almost worse than the noise. What makes a god go quiet?

Arlowe came back, at least. Came back all fucked up, but hey, he’s here. He’s asleep in your room right now, cuddling with three giant boars he found in some forest, who fuckin’ knows. This happens a few times a year - he comes over drunk with some random animals, cries on the random animals, sleeps a while, eventually disappears. The boars have almost definitely wrecked your dorm, which is fine, because Arlowe is your friend. He still won’t talk about the war.

Things feel pretty - strained, these days. You’re shaping up to be a competent warlock, you’re settling into a solid senior thesis about some really technical extraplanar magic, but all your friends are sad and withdrawn and half of them aren’t talking to each other. You still party sometimes, but after what happened a few years back, when you got too fucked up and hurt some people, that part of your life is really just - over. Your powers aren’t fun anymore. You are very aware that magic is a dangerous, dangerous tool. The older you get, the less you trust anyone to wield that tool responsibly.

Take Josefa, for example. So she became a lich. Great. How many lives did that take? What was the point? What is she gonna do with all that power and all that time? And Ykara is just meddling in stuff she has no business meddling with, and Valinor is so outwardly arrogant, it just makes no sense. All these studies - the work you were all so excited about, the work you’ve spent a lifetime developing - just feel like - vanity projects. It feels like nothing.

Growing up, all you wanted was freedom. Now you’re the freest you’ve ever been. You have no idea what you want.