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The tadfools are in the midst of The Underdark. It has been a few tendays since the nautiloid events, the tieflings in the grove, the raid on the goblins and rescue mission of the archdruid Halsin – who had joined their party to aid them, and all the other small things.
They had even met the devil Raphael, who gave, freely, some backstory to their resident tiefling, and a name of sorts. The male never took to it though, seeming not to like it, and refused to use it, despite Astarion’s endless teasing. “The Dark Urge” doesn’t sit well with him.
He had been absentminded outside of conflict the last tenday, deep in his thoughts and his own head, a small shadow of his grand self.
“Darius,” he announces suddenly, rising to his heigh from being bent over the cluster of gently growing mushrooms. Seven pairs of eyes are staring at him, their motions stopping as they stare at him. The collective eyes of everyone staring at him is both familiar and uneasy.
“I want you all to call me Darius. My name.” He brushes his hands over the knees of his trousers, meeting their stares one by one. Suddenly he is filled with doubt.
“Is it a bad name?” he asks, furrowing his brows. His eyes linger on Halsin as the large druid approaches, a gentle smile pulling on his tattooed and scarred face. He almost doesn’t flinch when the elf touches his shoulder. Almost.
“No, that’s not a bad name at all,” the towering druid says, his hand dropping from his… Darius’s shoulder. Hm, he has to practice the name in his mind too. “It’s a good name.” Halsin’s smile doesn’t waver.
The tief-…Darius nods his head to Halsin, muttering a low “thank you”. It will take some getting used to, this, but the practice starts now.