harpershigh-arch

[harpershigh-arch]

FINALLY the new blog is ready, follow me on the new @harpershigh folks! This blog will continue for now while I move things over there but will get deactivated and eventually deleted, for now I'll make sure to follow all my mutuals from there

[harpershigh-arch]

That's it, I decided that Jaheira needs her own blog, with new visuals and such. I'm working on it rn so the threads and asks will be even slower than they already were :'D (hopefully everything will continue from there, I'll keep the same url and change the title of this one after everything is properly moved)

Bear with me 🙏

[harpershigh-arch]

Yet another arrow flew past the training dummy, embedding itself uselessly in the grass beyond. Jaheira let out a tired sigh as she trudged over to the quiver, her leather boots sinking slightly into the damp earth. Archery was never her strength. She always preferred the visceral certainty of melee combat, where steel met flesh with decisive clarity... But well, a little training (almost) never hurts, and it would be good if she wasn't completely useless with a bow, just in case.

Still, she pretty much doubted that an old dog could learn any new tricks.

Returning to her stance, she planted her feet firmly and squared her shoulders, rolling them back to relieve the tension. The bow felt awkward in her hands, its weight unfamiliar and unyielding. She nocked another arrow, pulling the bowstring back until it grazed her cheek. Her fingers trembled slightly, but she focused on the target, blocking out everything else — the chirping of birds, the rustling of leaves, the distant murmur of the stream.

Inhaling deeply, she released the arrow, watching it arc through the air. It struck the edge of the target with a dull thud. Not quite there yet, but closer. A small smile tugged at her lips. Progress, however slight, was still progress. She'd get there. Eventually.

Jaheira reached for another arrow. She pulled it back, muscles straining with the familiar effort. Just as she steadied her aim, her name rang out — a desperate cry, laced with tears.

"Jaheira!"

Startled, the arrow slipped from her grasp, flying wide and disappearing into the trees. The doors to the backyard flew open, and her heart pounded as she spun towards the sound, only to be nearly knocked off her feet by a young drow.

The impact sent her stumbling back, dropping the bow on the floor, but she managed to stay upright. Jinx clung to her, trembling with fear and urgency. She looked down, seeing the panic in her eyes, feeling the girl's desperate sobs against her.

Jaheira's mind raced, a whirlwind of dreadful possibilities spinning chaotically in her thoughts. Was someone injured, bleeding out somewhere? Or worse, had death already claimed another soul? Perhaps an ambush was lurking just beyond her sight, shadows waiting to pounce. Maybe another would-be god was on the rise, bent on destroying the realm with delusions of grandeur? She could almost hear the universe chuckling at her expense, throwing yet another crisis her way.

"What's wrong?" Her voice snapped into command mode, sharp and steady in the ask. Only too late she noticed that the rush of adrenaline tightened her tone, giving it a little-too-rough edge of authority.

She took a deep breath, making a conscious effort to soften the sharpness in her voice. Gently, she wrapped her arms around the girl, resting a hand on her head, trying to steady her. "Easy now," she murmured, her voice soft but firm. "You’re safe here, I promise. But I need to understand, alright? What happened?" She spoke with the same warmth she'd used with her own children, trying to coax the girl into focus. "I can’t help you if I don’t know what you’re running from. Just take a breath, and tell me, hm?" Her fingers gently brushed the drow's hair back, trying to offer some comfort while seeking clarity.

🎀 @harpershigh put a 🩷 to this post to meet jinx !!

Bruised and aching, she bursts through the door, her pale blue eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “Jaheira!” she cries, her voice trembling as she throws aside her broken bow and arrows. She had only ventured into the Underdark to collect some glowing mushrooms, hoping to decorate her room with their soft light. But instead, she had run into the younger drow women she once trained with. Like always, they mocked her—her lack of skill, her unwillingness to embrace the harshness that their society demanded. Being a female drow meant striving for power, for control, and they reminded her, as they always had, that she was a disappointment for wanting something different.

The moment she sees Jaheira, she runs toward her, her sobs breaking free as she throws her arms around her, burying her face in Jaheira’s chest. Her breathing is ragged, almost uncontrollable. She never wanted to be like the matriarchs—ruthless, unyielding, obsessed with dominance. She didn’t want to spend her life perfecting her combat skills just to prove her worth. She wanted to learn to fight, yes, but at her own pace. More than that, she wanted to explore the world, to be free, to be something more than a product of the Underdark. She wanted to be a hero.

But she wasn’t ready yet—not even close. The world beyond the Underdark was still so new, so full of possibilities she hadn’t even begun to understand.

“Please don’t make me go back,” she pleads, her voice breaking as she clings to Jaheira. “Let me stay with you forever. I promise I’ll do whatever you ask—just don’t send me back there. I want to stay here, with you.” She rambles on, not even pausing to explain what had happened, too caught up in the desperate need to escape what she left behind.

[harpershigh-arch]

Jaheira felt the heat rise in her cheeks as Karlach’s voice rumbled through her, letting out an amused laugh at the flatteries Karlach was pulling out all of a sudden. A soft blush bloomed across her face, spreading warmth that she hadn’t felt in years. She kept her grip tight around the dragon’s neck, trying to hide her sudden embarrassment. But before she could gather her thoughts, a burst of magic light enveloped them both, and suddenly the powerful dragon beneath her shifted.

In the blink of an eye, the druid found herself not hanging from the neck of a fearsome dragon, but nestled in Karlach’s lap, the tiefling's strong arms bracing her. The air between them seemed to crackle with tension, their faces just a few centimeters apart. She hesitated, suddenly shy, her breath catching as she feared Karlach might find the situation strange. But she couldn’t quite bring herself to move, caught in the closeness of the moment, the space between them feeling like a fragile thing that might shatter if either of them spoke. But, much to her surprise, Karlach pulled her even closer, placing a soft, tender kiss on one of her cheeks. What once was a soft blush now was a burning heat, spreading up Jaheira's neck and ears.

"Can you stay with me tonight? I just don't want to be alone."

She felt her breath hitch in her throat, suddenly aware of how close they were and the warmth radiating from the tiefling’s body. Words tumbled through her mind, but they felt tangled, a jumbled mess she couldn’t sort through.

“W-well, I…” she stammered, her cheeks warming further under the Karlach’s gaze. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest like a war drum as she tried to compose herself. Inside, she cringed — what a way of making a fool of herself. What must Karlach think of her? Here she was, stumbling over her words like a goddamn teenager, an embarrassing scene. An old fool, no doubt. Gods, she wished she could simply disappear.

Jaheira glanced away for a moment, trying to find even a shred of composure, but Karlach’s gentle touch pulled her back. She swallowed hard, her voice barely above a whisper as she finally managed to reply, “...yes.”

Jaheira stood there, listening to Karlach’s whispered words, the rawness of her confusion and pain settling deep in her chest. The sight of her — massive, scales glinting in the firelight, yet so lost — tugged at Jaheira in a way that made her almost speak. She wanted to offer it, the idea that maybe, just maybe, she could go with Karlach to Avernus. They could face it together. Find a way to fix her engine there.

Jaheira had always been careful with her heart, more so after everything she had lost. She wasn’t the type to let herself be swayed easily, especially not by fleeting emotions or passing affections. But Karlach... Karlach stirred something deep within her. It wasn’t obvious, not even to herself, just a quiet warmth that bloomed when Karlach was near. A loyalty she felt in her bones, stronger than what she’d offer to just anyone. She wasn’t the kind of woman to drop everything to follow someone into the Hells — no, that wasn’t her way. But for Karlach… the thought lingered, just for a moment, before she brushed it aside, refusing to look too closely at what it might mean.

Be as it may be — Karlach had already made it clear. Avernus was not an option for her, not anymore. Jaheira couldn’t be so cruel as to suggest it.

Instead, without thinking, Jaheira leaped up and threw her arms around Karlach’s massive neck, squeezing it tight. Her eyes stung with the threat of tears, but she masked it with a laugh. "Well," she murmured against her scales with a tentative smile, her voice light but warm, "I can shapeshift into a reptile or two if you need a matching pair."

She reached up, planting a tender kiss on whatever patch of rough skin she could reach. "We’ll figure it out. If someone wants to break in, they'll have to break through me first."

[harpershigh-arch]

Could you write something about durge having an episode? With any characters you like best!

Ooo so i did minthara (shock), Halsin and Jaheira as I wanted to write out how they would react when you come to them in the middle of the night after the butler tells you to kill your lover

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Minthara:

The moon hung high in the sky, casting an eerie glow over the encampment. You felt the familiar, horrifying pull of the dark urges clawing at your mind, whispering insidious commands to kill, to destroy - just as your butler had told you. You knew what had to be done: you had to warn Minthara before it was too late.

Steeling yourself, you approached the tent where Minthara was resting. Her form lay still, wrapped in a blanket of shadows and moonlight. You hesitated for a moment, your heart pounding, before gently shaking her awake.

“Minthara,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I need to talk to you. Now.”

Minthara stirred, blinking sleep from her eyes as she focused on you. “What is it, my love?” she asked, her voice husky with sleep.

“I’ve been tasked to kill you,” you said, the words bitter on your tongue. “The dark urges… they want me to kill you.”

Minthara laughed softly, a smirk playing on her lips. “You could try,” she teased, her eyes glinting with amusement.

“This is serious, Minthara,” you insisted, your voice breaking slightly. “I need you to bind me. I can’t control it. Please, for both our sakes.”

Minthara’s smirk widened, and she leaned closer, her breath warm against your skin. “Oh, I can think of a few ways to bind you,” she purred, her tone suggestive.

“Minthara, please,” you said, your voice urgent as you lightly whacked her. “There’s no time for games.”

Seeing the desperation in your eyes, Minthara’s expression sobered. With a nod, she rose from the bed and fetched some rope. She worked quickly, her hands steady as she bound your wrists and ankles, securing you to a sturdy post. Her touch was firm but gentle, and you felt a flicker of gratitude amidst the terror.

As soon as you were bound, the dark urges surged, crashing over you like a tidal wave. You strained against your bonds, your eyes wild and unfocused.

“I’ll kill you,” you snarled, the words dripping with venom. “I’ll tear you apart.”

Minthara stood before you, her arms crossed over her chest, an amused glint in her eye.

“Stop flirting with me,” she said dryly, her voice calm and unshaken. The struggle continued for what felt like an eternity, every fiber of your being fighting against the malevolent force within you. Finally, the storm passed, and you slumped in your restraints, exhausted and back to your senses.

“Minthara,” you gasped, looking up at her with weary eyes. “I’m so sorry. I… I didn’t mean any of it.”

Minthara knelt beside you, her fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from your face.

“Don’t apologize,” she said softly, her eyes filled with understanding. “I knew the risks when I chose to be with you.”

You felt a surge of emotion, your chest tightening with a mix of relief and love.

“Is it bad that I really want to have sex with you right now?” Minthara asked, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. You laughed, the sound raw and genuine.

“You’re incorrigible,” you said, shaking your head. Minthara’s smile softened, and she leaned in to press a tender kiss to your lips.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Halsin:

The moon hung high in the sky, casting its silvery light over the forest clearing where your camp was set. The dark urges had been growing stronger, more insistent, clawing at your mind with a relentless ferocity. You knew you couldn’t ignore them any longer, couldnt ignore what your butler had told you. You had to go to him, to Halsin.

Taking a deep breath, you approached his tent, the familiar scent of earth and leaves mingling with the crisp night air. You gently shook his shoulder, your heart pounding with anxiety.

“Halsin,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I need your help.”

Halsin stirred, blinking sleepily up at you before his expression turned serious. “What is it, my heart?” he asked, his voice deep and soothing.

“The urges… they’re telling me to kill you,” you said, your voice cracking. “I need you to bind me. Please.”

Halsin sat up, his eyes searching yours. “You’ll be fine,” he assured you, his tone calm and confident. “We’ll get through this together.”

You nodded, feeling a momentary sense of relief at his steady presence. But as Halsin began to gather the ropes, the urges surged within you, stronger than ever. Without warning, you tackled him, pinning him to the ground, a snarl escaping your lips.

“I’ll tear you apart, and feed the ground your innards” you growled, the dark influence twisting your words. Halsin’s eyes widened in surprise, but he reacted quickly. With the strength and speed that belied his size, he flipped you over and held you down, his grip firm but careful.

“Enough of this,” he muttered, hauling you up like a rabid animal.

He tied you up with practiced ease, securing the ropes around your wrists and ankles, then tethering you to a sturdy tree. You struggled against your bonds, a desperate, primal rage fueling your actions. When you tried to bite him, he sighed and raised his hand, using his druidic magic to conjure a spray of water. The sudden cold shock made you sputter and snarl, but it also calmed the worst of the frenzy.

Halsin chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling with a mixture of amusement and concern. “You’re quite the handful,” he remarked, watching as you continued to strain against the ropes.

The night passed in a tense blur, but eventually, the dark urges ebbed away, leaving you exhausted and clear-headed. As dawn broke, you looked up to see Halsin sitting nearby, keeping a watchful eye on you.

“I’m so sorry,” you said, your voice hoarse with fatigue. “I didn’t mean any of it.”

Halsin stood and approached you, a gentle smile on his face. “Don’t worry,” he said, beginning to untie the ropes. “I’m used to dealing with wild animals.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his teasing, the sound raw and genuine. “I’m not sure if I should be offended or relieved.”

“Relieved,” Halsin replied, his hands warm and reassuring as he helped you to your feet. “You’re safe now, and that’s all that matters.”

You leaned against him, feeling a deep sense of gratitude and love. The darkness might always be a part of you, but with Halsin’s unwavering support, you knew you could face it and anything else that came your way.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Jaheira:

The moon cast its soft light over the campsite, illuminating the trees and creating shadows that danced on the ground. The urges had become unbearable,the butlers words haunting you, gnawing at your mind with a relentless intensity. You knew you had to act before they took over completely. Taking a deep breath, you made your way to Jaheira’s tent, feeling a mixture of dread and determination.

You gently shook her shoulder, your voice barely above a whisper. “Jaheira, I need your help.”

Jaheira stirred, her eyes opening to meet yours. She instantly noticed the turmoil in your expression and sat up, her face growing serious. “What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice calm but concerned.

“The urges… they’re telling me to kill you,” you confessed, your voice trembling. “I need you to bind me before I lose control.”

Jaheira’s eyes softened with understanding. She had dealt with Bhaalspawn before and knew the horrors that came with it.

“Very well,” she said, her tone steady. “Let’s take care of this.”

As she gathered the ropes, you could feel the dark urges growing stronger, clawing at your sanity. Before you could stop yourself, you lunged at her, a growl escaping your lips.

“I’ll feast on your flesh” you snarled, the dark influence twisting your words. Jaheira moved swiftly, her experience evident in her calm demeanor. She pinned you down with practiced ease, her grip firm but gentle.

“Oh, how scary you are,” she said, her voice dripping with mock fear. “I’m trembling in my boots.”

She tied you up with expert precision, securing the ropes around your wrists and ankles, then tethering you to a sturdy tree.

"When I am free, I will feed your guts to yourself" You struggled against the bonds, a desperate rage fueling your actions. Jaheira simply nodded along, pretending to be intimidated.

“Yes, yes, very terrifying,” she said, her tone almost amused. “I’m absolutely petrified.”

The night wore on, with Jaheira keeping a watchful eye on you as you fought against the urges. She occasionally offered sarcastic comments, treating you like a child pretending to be a big scary monster. “Oh, no! Whatever will I do?” she said, feigning distress. “You’re so intimidating.”

Eventually, the urges began to fade, leaving you exhausted and drained. As the first light of dawn appeared on the horizon, you looked up to see Jaheira sitting nearby, her eyes kind and patient.

“I’m so sorry,” you said, your voice hoarse from the strain. “I didn’t mean any of it.”

Jaheira approached you, a gentle smile on her face. “You did well,” she said, beginning to untie the ropes. “For a Bhaalspawn, you were quite well-behaved.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle weakly at her words. “A gold star for the most well-behaved Bhaalspawn?”

“Exactly,” Jaheira replied, her tone light-hearted as she helped you to your feet. “You’ve earned it.”

As you leaned against her for support, a question lingered in your mind. “Why do I feel like a child?”

Jaheira hushed you softly, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. “Because sometimes, even the strongest of us need to be reminded that we are still human,” she said. “And that it’s okay to be vulnerable.”

You felt a profound sense of comfort and safety in her presence, knowing that with Jaheira by your side, you could face whatever darkness lay ahead.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

wholesome durge my beloved, hope you guys liked it ! - Seluney xox

[harpershigh-arch]

[harpershigh-arch]

The promise of learning everything about the nobles of a city she couldn’t even pronounce made Jhessem’s face light up with delight. The Commander had never spoken much about the city itself — only about those who managed to escape it. So, the chance to discover more about this mysterious land of darkness and glowing mushrooms felt almost magical to her.

"Don't take too long!" She nodded in agreement, but her voice had a clear intonation: she would not let Amalica forget about it.

When Jaheira heard footsteps in the corridor, she already knew they belonged to Amalica. Years of experience had taught her to recognize people by the sound of their steps. But even without that skill, she wouldn’t have been surprised to see the drow show up. Of course Amalica had found her way here — that's just what she does.

"Rion was reckless, damn it! She had no business by staying around." Her voice wavered between fury and frustration as she turned to Amalica. "My instructions were clear — she should have taken all of them as far from this cursed city as possible!"

She paced back and forth, her arms crossed, the anger radiating from her in waves. She stopped, exhaling sharply, her eyes burning with emotion. "But no, she had to be stubborn. Always thinking she can handle more than she should. What was she thinking?" Jaheira shook her head, the words bitter on her lips. "What a stubborn, infuriating girl."

Jaheira's voice trembled as she tried to hold back her tears, her eyes glistening with the effort to stay composed. "They’re here... they’re actually here," she whispered, her words thick with emotion. "And I’m terrified. Terrified of losing them." She swallowed hard, her chest tightening. "It wasn’t supposed to be like this, Amalica." Her hand trembled as she brushed it over her face, as if trying to erase the fear and exhaustion. "It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I should’ve never come back... it would’ve been easier if they never saw me again.”

Jaheira’s chest tightened as despair clawed at her. Her breath came in shallow, ragged gasps, and she pressed a trembling hand to her mouth, trying to stifle the sob that threatened to escape. Her eyes, wide and desperate, locked onto Amalica, silently pleading for something she couldn’t even name — comfort, understanding, an answer to the storm raging inside her. It was all too much. She was terrified, of losing them, of being powerless to stop it. None of this should be happening. None of it. She swallowed hard, blinking back tears, but her voice failed her.

@fleshcarverfugitive

Jaheira sat at the far end of the table, a warm smile tugging at her lips as she observed the delightful chaos unfolding before her. Jord was in the center of it all, dishing out food with a focused yet slightly harried expression, balancing plates in both hands. "No, Fig, that's not your plate," he said with a half-laugh, half-sigh as Fig tried to snatch a piece of bread from the tray. Meanwhile, Tate had launched a full-scale assault on the other side of the table, determined to win the argument over who got the larger slice of pie.

"Tate, Fig, will you both settle down?" Rion scolded from across the room, trying to sound authoritative but failing as she fought back a grin. The half-elf crossed her arms, exasperated but clearly used to this routine.

"And then, Lady Ireth of Tethyr..." Jhessem, perched at Amalica’s side, was deep in another story about some noble Tethyrian family, her voice rising as she tried to compete with the noise, her enthusiasm shining through even if no one seemed to be listening.

Jaheira felt her heart swell. The noise, the laughter, the small squabbles over food — it was chaotic, yes, but it was a beautiful kind of chaos. A home filled with life, with love, and most of all, with people who cared deeply for one another. She chuckled softly, shaking her head as she took it all in. This, she realized, was the kind of battle she loved. One where everyone emerged a little more full, a little more tired, but altogether.

Her companions each found their own way to navigate the mayhem. Minsc, true to form, stood on a chair, pretending to sword-fight with a wooden spoon, an act that promoted Tate and Fig to cheer him on. Shadowheart sat primly, trying to hide a smile as she half-heartedly shooed away Tate’s attempts to pull her into the chaos, though her eyes twinkled with amusement. Wyll stood up and decided to help Jord serve, his noble upbringing shining through as he gracefully balanced plates, offering polite smiles and easy laughter, though he occasionally cast wistful glances toward the quietest corner.

Gale gestured dramatically as he told an impromptu story to Lae’zel, who, for once, seemed amused — though her smile was sharp and her eyes calculating, clearly not quite relaxing. Karlach, roaring with laughter, had Fig hanging off one of her arms, playfully pretending to struggle under her weight as Minthara gave the kid advice on close-quarter combat techniques. Astarion lounged at the table, sipping from a goblet of wine with an air of bemused detachment, occasionally making a sarcastic comment that earned him a half-hearted glare from Halsin, who occupied himself eating.

Jaheira's smile slowly faded as the thought of their looming fate crept in, settling over her like a cold, suffocating fog. This chaotic, joyful dinner — this slice of normalcy — was a cruel reminder of all she might lose.

Soon, she could be dead.

They could all be dead.

And her children would suffer.

The thought gnawed at her, like a knife twisting at her chest. How foolish had she been to come here, to let herself get close, to allow them to see her one last time? No goodbyes, no mourning. That’s how it should have been. It would have been easier. Cleaner. She could have spared them the heartache, spared herself the thought of their grief.

But now... Now they’d have to watch her walk into battle again, knowing it could be the last time. A lump formed in her throat, and she clenched her jaw, trying to push back the rising tide of guilt. Part of her was glad to see them, to hear their voices, to feel their laughter surround her like a shield from the darkness of her own mind. But was it worth it? Was it worth putting them through this much pain just for her selfish desire to hold them close one last time?

She stood, a bit more abruptly than intended, her chair scraping loudly against the floor as she excused herself under the pretense of going to the toilet. Hopefully, everyone was too caught up in the warm chaos of the moment to question her. She slipped away and went upstairs, retreating to the privacy of her room. Once inside, she made her way to the balcony, leaning heavily on the wooden railing as she breathed in the cool city air.

The familiar hum of Baldur's Gate was now her company, a familiar noise that did not always bring her peace, much less now. It felt hollow, like the calm before a storm. She lingered there, her hands gripping the railing until her knuckles turned white. Was this it? Was this what she was going to leave them with? The uncertainty, the fear? She stared out into the night, her heart heavy with the knowledge that the love she had for them could not protect them from the war she had brought to their doorstep.

She didn’t go back. Couldn’t. The laughter from downstairs was faint, muffled by the walls, but it still tugged at her heart. Jaheira closed her eyes and let the city’s air fill her lungs, wondering if this might be the last time she'd ever feel this close to them again.

[harpershigh-arch]

Jaheira frowned, her gaze distant as she weighed the risks. Accompanying Isobel through the Shadowlands wasn’t just dangerous — it was reckless. The cursed land was no place for anyone, let alone someone so young, and green when it came to survival tactics.

But then again... she knew how stubborn Isobel could be. The girl was obstinate to a fault, pushing herself until she collapsed from exhaustion, refusing to rest until she couldn't. If Jaheira didn’t go with her, chances were that Isobel would follow her anyway, or worse, attempt to brave the Shadowlands alone. No, she couldn’t let that happen. Jaheira sighed, knowing full well that Isobel would need guidance — and protection — whether she admitted it or not.

There was no other choice.

Jaheira’s frown deepened, her expression heavy with thought. She crossed her arms, her fingers tapping idly against her sleeve as she weighed her options. Every rational part of her screamed against it — against the risk, the danger — but then her gaze flicked to Isobel, and the stubborn determination in the girl’s eyes told her all she needed to know.

With a sigh, Jaheira conceded. She uncrossed her arms, letting them fall to her sides as she turned to Isobel.

"Fine," she said, her voice low, almost reluctant. "I’ll take you there." Her eyes met Isobel’s, sharp and serious. "But you’ll have to give me time to prepare. No one can know. Not a soul. If the Harpers find out, they’ll insist on coming with us, and that’ll only slow us down and put them in danger."

Jaheira leaned in slightly, her voice firm. "While out there, you will have to stay close, and do exactly as I say. No exceptions." If Isobel was going, she’d make damn sure they both came back alive.

A wave of uncertainty washed over her. This decision — it was dangerous, reckless, and utterly crazy. The Shadowlands weren’t just some darkened woods. They were a death trap, a place that swallowed the careless whole, and she was about to march straight into it, dragging the very reason of their endurance, their beacon of hope, along with her.

Dozens of lives were at stake. The Harpers, their allies, even Isobel herself. What if they failed? What if they didn’t come back? The weight of it pressed on her chest, heavy and suffocating.

But gods, wasn’t this just like old times?

The reckless charge, the impossible odds. Jaheira had lived through enough of these battles to know better. And yet here she was, making the same damn choices, risking everything for what she deemed right.

She closed her eyes for a moment, taking a slow breath. This was madness. But maybe madness was the only thing that had kept her alive this long.

Jaheira crouched in front of Isobel, her movements slow, her gaze steady, filled with warmth and concern. She was ready to catch the girl if she crumbled — but luckily Isobel held firm.

A werepanther.

Jaheira had seen many things in her life, but this... this was rare. The lycanthropy could either be a curse or a blessing, depending on how it was gained and handled. In Isobel's case, Jaheira desperately wanted to believe it was the latter. It had to be.

"Perhaps Selûne herself witnessed your struggle," Jaheira said gently, her voice soft but unwavering, as she placed a reassuring hand on Isobel's shoulder. "The pain, the injustice... and she gave you this strength. A weapon to fight back, not a burden to carry." She gave a comforting squeeze, as if willing her conviction into Isobel’s form.

But there was something else — another presence flickering at the edge of Jaheira’s awareness. A faint, almost imperceptible sense that not everything was as it seemed. She couldn’t quite place it, but it lingered there, just beneath the surface. The power of Selûne still coursed through Isobel, but something more lingered. Another deity? Jaheira would have to make a research, call upon ancient power to unravel whatever else was entwined within the girl’s fate. The sudden memory of a shrine that lays deep within the Shadowlands comes to Jaheira's mind. The old druid frowned, the idea of escorting Isobel safely there gnawing at her. It was too far, too treacherous. Every step in these lands was a risk, and she wasn't willing to gamble with the girl's safety. But maybe... maybe she could go herself. Study the runes etched into the shrine’s stone, absorb their magic, and try to replicate the ancient spells here. But for now, she could only offer the comfort of her words and her presence.

"There's an old shrine to the east..." Jaheira’s mind wandered to old stories she’d heard — whispers of dark lycanthropy, tied to followers of The Raven Queen. She considered sharing these fears with Isobel, warning her of what might be lurking beneath the surface... but she hesitated for a moment. The girl had already been through enough, and planting such dark seeds of doubt could do more harm than good.

Although...

Isobel seemed so distressed, so lost... Any hint on whatever could shed a light on her situation could bring some peace to the girl's mind.

"Well, what’s left of a shrine, at least. There are whispers of an entity called The Raven Queen who once ruled these lands, granting her children some… unusual gifts." Jaheira’s voice grew thoughtful, "I’ll investigate it. Study the runes, see what remains of the magic there. If I can absorb even a fraction of its power, I may be able to replicate the spells here, in a controlled environment — somewhere safe. Perhaps it could shed some light on your situation."

[harpershigh-arch]

Jaheira glanced down at the young drow resting his head in her lap, her fingers absentmindedly stroking his hair. How long had it been since there was a time peaceful enough for someone to lean on her like this? Asking her about her thoughts that doesn't immediately converge into battle tactics? Someone willing to be-

A confidant.

Gods, it felt like a lifetime ago. She couldn't even recall the last time she let her guard down enough to allow this kind of closeness. So much had been lost, so much sacrificed — time, trust, warmth. If not by the Harper's life, the Shadowcurse alone would have that effect.

She sighed softly, feeling the weight of those years and the strange comfort of the moment. Her fingers find their way into Vhaal's hair, gently combing it.

"I was just lost in thought... thinking about the past." Jaheira smiled, though the warmth never reached her eyes.

Was it wise to tell him about her children? About how much she missed them — their laughter, their stubbornness, the little moments that felt like home? No. It wasn’t wise to speak of them, not to anyone. For their safety, yes, but also for her own heart. Once those memories resurfaced, she'd be powerless to stop the tears, and she'd promised herself long ago never to let them fall. Not where anyone could see.

But Jaheira knew the drow wouldn't settle for vague answers. So, perhaps, there was room for a small compromise…

"You reminded me of the days when I took on apprentices," she said, her voice softening. "The way their faces would light up with joy when they finally got the incantation right... And the pride I felt in their accomplishments."

She smiled again, but this time there was warmth in it — a quiet, bittersweet warmth. "It’s something I’ve missed. To watch someone grow, knowing I helped them find their path."

Jaheira paused, catching herself. “Not that I think you're lost, or anything like that — there’s no question you’ve found your way,” she added quickly, “It’s just... well, you reminded me of that time, that's all."

She chuckled lightly, glancing down at him. "I suppose it’s just me being sentimental. Happens with age."

Ah, yes. Jaheira, the tiny druid. May Minsc never hear this one.

She scoffed at the drow’s words, especially since he wasn’t that much taller than her anyway… Jaheira barely had time to register Vhaal’s sudden hug before she was hoisted into the air, her feet kicking wildly.

"No! No! Put me down!" she protested, laughing despite herself. "Ah! The stew’s going to overcook!"

She struggled, trying to get free, but she knew it was useless. "Why don't you go bother the huge druid for once?" she quipped, still wriggling.

But then she caught sight of Gale stepping in to stir the pot, and her resistance faltered. “Fine, fine,” she relented with a mock sigh, “I’ll tend to the ravenous cub, then.” She said, in mock annoyance, her smile betraying her amusement.

Jaheira sat beside Vhaal under the shade of a large tree, one of the few they could find in the city’s outskirts. "Here, give me your hand," she reached over, wrapping her hands around his. Her fingers were warm, calloused from years of battle and travel, but steady. Slowly, she whispered the words of the spell, and a soft, green-and-golden glow surrounded their clasped hands.

From the space between their palms, small, round berries began to form, ripening in the warmth of her magic. The faint scent of fresh earth and sweet fruit filled the air as the goodberries appeared, nestled in Vhaal’s palm. She smiled, a tender expression crossing her face, and gently opened their hands, revealing the small, vibrant fruits.

A pang of nostalgia gripped her. She had done this very thing countless times before, but with smaller hands — her children’s hands. Rion’s laughter, Jord’s curious eyes, little Fig eagerly snatching the berries before they were fully formed. She could almost hear them now, their voices filling the quiet spaces of her mind, like an echo from a time that felt both near and far.

She missed them. More than she allowed herself to admit. The noise, the warmth of their presence, the sound of their footsteps around her. She had been away too long, and while the battle ahead called her, the weight of their absence settled deep within her chest. They were out there, following their own paths, just as she had taught them, and she knew they were strong. But still, the ache of missing them lingered, a quiet hurt she couldn’t shake.

With a deep breath, Jaheira gently released Vhaal’s hand, her smile masking the bittersweet feeling tugging at her heart.

"There," she said softly, snatching one of them for herself, her tone playful yet caring. "A little something to keep you from biting me again."

[harpershigh-arch]

Jaheira gently wiped the last of the blood from Orin's skin, her fingers moving with care over the wound. "Hold still," she said with a hint of playful exasperation. "Almost done. Ye Gods, you’re as impatient as a child." She gave a faint smile before placing her hand over the injury, her palm warm as soft green light pulsed from her fingers, the spell weaving together torn flesh and sinew. The magic was pretty much familiar, but something in the way it resonated with Orin's blood stirred an odd sensation in her, as if she already done this a thousand times over, even though she was pretty sure that she never met Orin before. She couldn’t quite place why, but dismissed the thought for now.

"There," Jaheira said softly as the glow faded, "Now all you need is a good night’s rest, and you’ll be back in fighting form." She packed away her supplies and gave Orin a knowing glance. "You know, as much as we’re all good and strong warriors, we can’t just leap from one battle to the next without pausing to recover. Time to heal is just as essential as time fighting, and we need you at your full strengh, cub."

Jaheira chuckled at herself, shaking her head. "Listen to me — giving advice I didn’t even follow when I was younger. I would’ve been running into the next fight without a second thought."

She laughed softly as she realized how much she had changed. "You're all lucky I grew wiser on that matter."

@harpershigh sent

[CLEANS] The sender takes a cotton swab and gently cleans the dirt and blood from the receiver's wounds. for Verse 1 Orin (tadpoled)

The pain of the wounds is a mere afterthought, a delightful sting that she finds she enjoys. Isn't that odd? It doesn't feel normal, none of the others particularly seem to enjoy their wounds while she finds them pleasant.

A side effect of her fractured mind, maybe?

Regardless, her thoughts shift to something - or rather someone - else when she spots the woman approaching her and then kneeling down in front of her.

Her first instinct is to hiss at her like a trapped animal but Orin forces the urge back and lets the woman tend to her wounds, washing over the blood and dirt and a particularly nasty cut on her arm. A gash from a dagger that looks and feels deep.

But she admires the look of red life juice on her pale skin.

After a moment of hesitation, because she does not know how to react to kindness and care being shown to her. She does not recall her memories but she doesn't think anyone has ever tried to tend to her past wounds before. ".....You did not have to help but if you must.....fine....but be quick, we have things to do."

[harpershigh-arch]

Jaheira winced as she leaned against the tree, every breath sending sharp jolts of pain through her side. Her ribs were definitely broken — she knew that feeling well enough. For a moment, she cursed herself for spending too much of her magic in a battle — now, she'd have to wait for proper healing. Blood trickled from a cut on her temple, but she swiped it away, refusing to acknowledge the young druid hovering over her with worry etched across his face.

She waved the young druid off, though the movement sent a fresh wave of agony through her ribs. "I’m fine, just… just a little bruised," she lied, the words strained through clenched teeth. "Hells, I’m getting old, aren’t I?" She tried to laugh, but it only brought a choking cough, and her face twisted in pain.

Jaheira let out a long breath, her stubbornness finally giving way to practicality. She nodded, her pride crumbling just a little as the healing warmth from the young druid's magic began to ease the sharp pain in her ribs. "Alright… I concede," she muttered, her voice softer now. After a moment, she glanced at him with a tired but genuine smile. "Thank you, cub."

@harpershigh gets a starter from the prompt generator. You got Vaelith, and the prompt was 'patching up an injury'; so have fun with my archdruid boi

"Please, let me help," he'd seen how her energy failed her so that she could not heal herself. "Allow me, high harper." Vaelith gently placed his hand on her side, allowing the soft purple magic to knit her wounds together. "And so we live to fight another day, hmm?"

[harpershigh-arch]

This is a war.

The firelight flickered across the table, casting fleeting shadows, but Jaheira''s mind wasn’t here. It was far away — back in the dark places she’d buried, places she didn’t dare let surface often.

The people she’d killed, their faces still flashed behind her closed eyes, ghosting over her every thought.

This is a war.

The ones she’d left to die, so others could survive at their expense…

This is a war.

The screams of those she’d tortured until they finally broke, until she could tear the writhing tadpoles from their skulls. It was all for the greater good, wasn’t it? The end justifies the means.

Because this is a war.

Gods, when had she fallen so low?

Her gaze flicked toward Karlach, the big warrior’s fiery spirit momentarily quiet. This girl… not much older than Jaheira had been when she started her own bloody journey. She had endured so much, survived horrors in Avernus that Jaheira could scarcely fathom. And yet, here she was, looking at her — looking up to her. A hero in Karlach’s eyes.

What would she think if she knew? If she knew all the things Jaheira had done, all the lines she’d crossed without hesitation, without looking back. Karlach still held on to her heart, her sense of right and wrong, despite everything. But Jaheira? She’d let those pieces of herself fall away, broken by war and duty, sacrificed on the altar of a ‘greater good’ she wasn’t even sure existed anymore.

Jaheira’s breath hitched suddenly, her chest tightening as if a great weight had settled on it. She could feel the walls of the room start to press in on her, the air growing thick and suffocating. Her pulse pounded in her ears, loud, too loud. Her fingers gripped the cutlery harder, trembling now, her knuckles white. The room blurred, the edges of her vision going hazy as her mind spun in a dizzying spiral. Her throat felt dry, tight, as if she couldn’t swallow, couldn’t breathe.

The familiar terror clawed at her chest, the icy realization creeping in. It was coming again.

No, not now.

Jaheira blinked rapidly, her eyes burning as she fought back the tears threatening to spill. She couldn’t — she wouldn’t break. Not in front of Karlach, not in front of the girl who looked at her like she was something more than all the blood on her hands. She swallowed hard, forcing her breath to steady, gripping the cutlery as if it could anchor her to the present, to reality.

Karlach didn’t deserve to see her like this, unraveling like a frayed thread. She was supposed to be strong. She was Jaheira — the hero, the High Harper, the one people looked to when they had no one else. Karlach didn’t need to see the cracks beneath the surface. She needed to see the woman she thought Jaheira was. The one who had fought for so long and come out on the other side, victorious. It was all too easy to imagine the disappointment in Karlach’s eyes if she knew the truth. The disillusionment. No, she couldn’t handle that — not now, not ever.

She couldn’t let her see.

She couldn’t let her see.

Jaheira smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. And so she buried it all, just like she had done so many times before. "You're right," she said, her voice steady, hiding the storm within. "Thank you, truly." She nodded, a warmth in her tone that masked the weight she still carried.

She slowly slid her slice of pie across the table toward Karlach. "Here, you’ve earned it more than I have."

Jaheira pushed her chair back, standing up a little too quickly. "I… If anyone needs me, I’ll be upstairs, on the second floor." Her voice was calm, but there was an edge of something unsaid. She gave Karlach a small, reassuring smile before turning away, heading toward the stairs.

But inside, the question lingered, a dark, unshakable whisper: When did I stop feeling?

Jaheira sat across Karlach at the large wooden table, the warm glow of candlelight flickering across the faces of the gathered Harpers. Laughter and conversation filled the room, and she found herself laughing too, the sound almost surprising in its ease. The druid smuggled an extra piece of pie onto Karlach’s plate, winking at her in playful compliance.

It felt good to be surrounded by her people, to feel the harshness of the day slowly fade off. Jaheira considered asking Karlach about the Hells, given she'd mentioned the Blood War before. But she quickly thought better of it. Most of the tieflings sheltering in Last Light weren’t comfortable talking about Elturel, and Jaheira figured Karlach probably wouldn't be eager to discuss it either.

And then, as it often did, her mind wandered. Her laughter faded as the image of the undead Harper girl crept into her thoughts — the cursed, hollow eyes of someone she once might have known. Someone she had killed.

She had to kill her. She knew that. It was necessary, it was mercy, and it was too late to save her from the curse. And yet... why didn’t she feel anything about it? Jaheira stared at her plate, her appetite suddenly vanishing. She tried to summon regret, to feel the weight of what she had done, but there was only emptiness, a cold void where grief should have been.

She had done this before, so many times before. Killing her own people, those who had once fought beside her — those who had fallen to darker fates. The funerals become more and more scarce. It had become... normal.

When had that happened?

When had the death of her own started to mean so little? She could remember the first time she had to do it, how it tore her apart inside. But now? Now it was just another task. Another life taken because it had to be.

Jaheira’s gaze drifted to the pie on Karlach’s plate, the laughter and noise around her fading into a distant hum. She wanted to care. She wanted to feel something — anything — but the truth was that the girl was already dead long before Jaheira raised her blade.

Or was that just an excuse she told herself to cope?

"I don't even remember her name." Her eyes locked back on her own plate as the words slipped out before Jaheira could stop them. Her voice was low and hollow, almost like a whispered, well-rehearsed prayer.

[harpershigh-arch]

Jaheira swirled the wine in her glass, watching it catch the light of the ballroom before downing it in one swift, bitter gulp. "People see what they want to see, indeed... And knowing those people, I bet half of them really wants a devil in their lives." she muttered, her voice low. A faint smirk tugged at her lips as she stared into her empty glass, too late realizing she'd let her thoughts slip out loud. Damn it. Well, she could always blame the wine.

"Saboteur, me?" She almost laughed, but the sound died before it could escape her throat. "No..." Her gaze swept across the room, filled with faces all too eager to bow and scrape before Gortash, the newly crowned tyrant. And yet, not so long ago, some of those very same faces had been steeped in distrust — of Abdel Adrian. The thought made her stomach turn. These nobles, now falling over themselves to flatter Gortash, had once cast suspicion on Abdel, their hero, treating him like an outsider. Now, they groveled like pups.

Jaheira’s lips pressed into a thin line, the unfairness of it all gnawing at her. Sarevok had been the same — another power-hungry fool they’d once been all too eager to follow. She’d watched him trip over his own ambition, and she intended to do the same with Gortash. She could see it now, the inevitable crash of arrogance when the weight of the crown bore down too heavily on him.

Oh, she would see it through.

In a sudden, angry motion, she seized a passing waiter by the arm, snatching another glass of wine from his tray with barely a glance. The man blinked in surprise, but before he could react, Jaheira had already let him go, eyes fixed on the swirling little amass of lapdogs of the ballroom. She took a sip — too harsh, too fast — but it hardly mattered.

"Just here to watch Gortash trip over his own damn feet," Jaheira muttered under her breath, her grip tightening around her glass, knuckles white. The wine burned down her throat, but it was nothing compared to the slow, simmering anger roiling in her chest. She glanced around the ballroom, her eyes narrowed in disdain as she watched the nobles fawn over their latest despot, their sycophantic smiles sickeningly familiar.

"I'll watch his fall," she continued, her voice dropping into a bitter whisper, "like I watched Sarevok’s. Like I’ve watched every other damn tyrant who’s ever clawed their way to power, thinking they’d be the one to hold it forever."

She took another gulp of wine, barely tasting it. Gods, she was tired. Tired of seeing this same story play out, again and again. It didn’t matter how many times they rose to save this cursed city. No matter how many villains were cut down, another would rise in his place — just as hungry, just as corrupt. And each time, people like her, people who fought and bled for Baldur's Gate, were left picking up the pieces, watching as the cycle began anew.

"What's the point?" she muttered, more to herself than anyone else. "You save the city, but it never stays saved. It’s like the gods themselves are determined to let it rot."

Her eyes flicked back to Gortash, standing there so smug, so sure of his power. She wanted to believe he’d meet the same end as the others. But even if he did, there’d be another behind him. There always was. How many times had she stood here, in this exact moment, watching history repeat itself?

Too many.

Far too many.

"It's exhausting." She lets out a sigh, both frustrated and tired. "To watch the same cycle of greed, of cruelty, of men thinking they could control what no one ever could. It didn’t matter how many would-be-tyrants we defeat — Baldur’s Gate will always find another."

And another.

And another.

Her gaze shifted to Mizora, and a bitter smirk crept across her face. "You know, I should raise a toast." She lifted her glass, the liquid sloshing slightly as her hand shook with the weight of her fury. "To Abdel Adrian, the man who saved every one of these worthless ingrates more times than they ever deserved." She spat the words like venom, her eyes flashing with anger.

There was no joy in that cursed ballroom. Only ghosts. Ghosts of men who deserved better, and the bitter truth that those who remained never would.

"When I was young, I used to think that this city was a blight in the land. Perhaps I was right."

This damn city didn’t want to stay safe. Maybe it didn’t deserve to.

No.

No, no, no.

What was she thinking?

Jaheira’s breath caught in her throat, the bitterness of her own words slamming into her like a wave of cold reality. And to whom she was letting those words spill, of all people. Her hand shot to her temple, pressing hard as if she could push the thoughts away, the sharp sting of regret settling in her chest.

Gods, no... How could she even think that? How could she let herself fall so far? This wasn’t her. This wasn’t what she believed, not after all she’d fought for.

All those years.

All that sacrifice.

Her hand trembled against her head, and she let out a shaky breath. "I..." Her voice faltered, suddenly small, as if speaking it aloud would make the shame less crushing. "I guess... I had too much wine."

But it wasn’t the wine, was it? It was everything. Everything she’d carried for so long, suddenly too heavy, too much. She was unraveling, and she knew it.

Jaheira stood by the grand window, her back to the room filled with laughing nobles and finely dressed sycophants. The soft fabric of her gown felt foreign against her skin, like she was playing a part in a play she never wanted to attend, although she knew it was necessary. In her hand, she swirled the wine in her cup — probably her tenth glass tonight, though it barely dulled the disdain bubbling under her blasé exterior.

Her eyes drifted over the city beyond, ignoring the gilded spectacle behind her. She took a sip, wishing for something with a bit more bite than the diluted wine that flowed so freely at Gortash’s coronation. She hadn’t mingled with nobility since Abdel Adrian’s passing, and she was better off that way.

Another sip. Another swirl of the glass. If anyone cared to approach her, they’d see nothing but quiet detachment, an illusion that concealed how deeply she loathed every minute of this event and all the people it conveyed.

Jaheira downed the rest of her wine as she overheard the light, playful chatter from a nearby group. She had been half-listening, lost in her own thoughts, until...

“...something something... Lady Mizora...”

Two words cut through the haze of alcohol and boredom.

Her head snapped toward the sound before she could stop herself, the movement a bit too sharp — blame it on the wine, or perhaps the sheer absurdity of what she’d just heard. Jaheira, normally more controlled, found herself staring, incredulous.

There, mingling among the nobility as if she belonged, was Mizora. The devil hadn’t even bothered to change too much — not a single hair out of place, only what Jaheira could only deem as the most low-effort disguise to hide her true nature. Mizora played her role with flawless elegance, smiling and laughing lightly with the group, as if she were just another aristocrat.

Jaheira watched as the nobles around Mizora began to drift away, their laughter fading as they moved on to the next conversation. She seized the opportunity, casually strolling toward the devil while fetching another glass of wine from a passing waiter. 

“Really? ‘Lady Mizora’?” Jaheira huffed, equal parts amused and incredulous. She considered making a joke, but the situation spoke for itself. “Subtle,” she muttered, shaking her head.

"All this power ... wasted on parties."

Her ladyship Zariel's words echoed in her head as Mizora mingled with the nobles of Baldur's Gate. Enver Gortasch had shied no cost for his coronation. Now that he had been named Grand Duke of Baldur's Gate, the same age-old race began. Who of the noble merchants could get his favour the quickest? Who could maintain the grip on their power or better yet expand upon it?

Crystal chandeliers reflected the light of a hundred candles, held in golden pedestals and braziers. The air was heavy with the scents of perfumes - vanilla, cinnamon, rose water, lilies and orchids -, the smell of roast suckling pig, baked potatoes, and the heavy aroma of wines and spirits. The nobles were creating a spectacle of colour, each one trying to outdo themselves in their grandeur. Silk and satin fought for competition, pearls, gold rings and jewellery tried to outshimmer and outshine each other. High elves rubbed elbows with men, dwarfs had to dodge servants to not trip others up; and they all sweat under the cold, calculating watch of the Steelwatchers.

Mizora handled the sea of colourful outfits and everchanging faces with the cold calculus of an experienced captain. She kept a riveting smile on her face, nodded and gestured lively at the appropriate moments, and even released the occasional chuckle. All the while, the Cambion was on the hunt for another gullible soul, she could make a deal with. These balls after coronations were awfully hectic affairs and the fear of losing in importance could easily drive people to her.

This feast, though, was different than her usual prowling grounds. It had not taken long for the Cambion to realise that some of her pet's playmates had infiltrated the place, dressed in the finest clothing, they had been able to afford. She could not spot Wyll among them, even with the aiding pry of the sending stone. His lack of presence was unsurprising - You could hardly disguise a pair of large, curved horns, sprouting from your temple.

Being greeted by Jaheira after a group of nobles dispersed, Mizora smiled warmly, her eyes sparkling with surprise. She raised her wine glass in a toast and a greeting. As Jaheira said how being called 'Lady Mizora' was not what you would call subtle, the Cambion replied: "People see what they want to see. When presented with multiple theories on one issue, you mortals prefer the easiest one. In other words, my claiming to be noble is much easier to pass off than these morons even entertaining the idea that they are speaking with a Cambion. The latter would be a good way to drive yourself crazy, don't you think?"

She took a sip of the wine. The drink was too full-bodied, the note was sticky sweet and any spice blend was lost in the added sugar. Mizora frowned, smacking her tongue against the roof of her mouth. Chasing the godawful aftertaste away, she turned towards Jaheira and said: "As little as I am invited here, what brings you here? Not just you, but Gale, Astarion and Shadowheart as well. Are you playing saboteur, darling?"

@harpershigh

[harpershigh-arch]

Sometimes I think I'm portraying Jaheira as a bit too impulsive, then re-playing the previous BG games, I see:

Jaheira BG1: That bastard was chopping off trees, so I chopped HIM off ^^

Jaheira SoD: I dragged my husband to the North to fight A WHOLE ARMY by ourselves :D

Jaheira BG2: *wants to throw hands with everyone who gives her a side-eye*

Looks like I'm just a few years late.

[harpershigh-arch]

coughcough

AHSJDJABSJAJSDF ANOTHER ONE ALMOST COMPLETE THE CHART

Gonna make a ranking 🤣🤣🤣🤣

(SOS SÓ OS CUIDADOR DE IDOSOS ONLINE)

[harpershigh-arch]

Spooky time part 2! Now with secondary companions + a gort-bot

Individual closeups under the cut

[harpershigh-arch]

I put "Mommy issues" in Jaheira's bingo

The Drows: