#[ STUDY ] Jaheira

[one-ledsome-soul]

Daily studies... A very loooonnnngggg way to go.

[speckledfiction]

But Thou Shalt Be Alone No More

What would the Baldur's Gate characters' daemons be, if they had them?

*

You watch as they insert the tadpole into your daemon’s eyesocket, feeling sick. Not just at the ordinary transgression of having your daemon touched by someone else, but at the teeth that tear through your soul. Over the next few days, your daemon will begin to slough off its skin, its muscles twisting into new forms. Eventually, it will become illithid. Then, it will eat you, all of you, right down to the last scraps. This is how mindflayers are made. This is how you are going to die. Except, of course, that that’s not what happens.

Shadowheart’s daemon is a wolf. She is afraid of her daemon. You don’t understand how anyone can be afraid of their own daemon, but she is. When she finally talks to you about Shar, she explains that Shar sees daemons as sinful. In a religion focused on darkness and loss, how could there be space for a constant companion, a part of your soul that you can see and talk to? Followers of Shar collar their daemons, and when they truly ascend through the ranks of the cult, that becomes a permanent shackle. Their daemons are essentially killed, made placid and tranquil and unthinking. You feel a shiver run through you at the very thought of it, and you feel deeply sorry for Skiateros, who follows Shadowheart so patiently, who licks her hand when it hurts, but who never speaks. You only hear his voice for the first time after the Nightsong is freed. It is low and rumbling, as he backs up Dame Aylin’s words, confirming the truth of what was done to them. Shadowheart kneels down and buries her face in his thick, black fur, and you want to cry.

Gith daemons are as strange to look at as their other halves are, an observation Lae’zel is quick to make in reverse. You don’t know the name for what Lae’zel’s Kssaru is. He is reptilian, perhaps unsurprisingly, but more cat shaped than lizard shaped. He has a fine ridge of spines down his back and beautiful blue scales, and he tempers Lae’zel’s fierceness with patient observation and thoughtful consideration. Lae’zel tells you that gith who please Vlaakith and achieve Ascension have their daemons turned into dragons. But even before you find out the real story, Kssaru seems hesitant about the idea. He does not need to be a dragon to be deadly, as you discover when he spits poison at your enemies. When Lae’zel turns her back on Vlaakith he sits at her side and tells her stories of brave warriors, bolstering her courage.

You might expect Gale to have a cat daemon, since his best friend is a tressym, but he doesn’t. As you walk away from his portal, you realise that tucked in against his neck, blending in with his hair is a small orb of a bird. A wren. She is sweet voiced and cheerful, and a compelling reason for Gale to stay out of the range of enemies as much as possible, though he would never let her come to harm. At first Galatea seems like an odd choice of daemon for someone like Gale. So small and inconspicuous and unassuming. It’s only as you get to know him better that you see the irony of it - both the legends of the wren, king of the birds, that made her the perfect choice for someone of his ambition, and the way that her plainness exacerbates that ambition, makes both her and him even more desperate to prove themselves special. When the orb in his chest gets bad Galatea starts to look very strange, her being fraying to darkness around the edges, until Gale eats an artifact and stabilises them again. If Gale chooses to ascend, Galatea vanishes. Gods do not have daemons. She never gets to be part of what he becomes. If he doesn’t, then she settles happily back into their tower home, where the windows let her fly as far and high as she can without straining the bond, and she and Tara can play little games of chase when Gale is cooking.

Astarion’s daemon is a dog. A plain, mid-sized brown dog. She wags her tail amicably and doesn’t seem particularly bright. Astarion’s daemon is a dog right up until you wake up with him hovering over you, fangs bared, and realise that the snake curled around his neck is Citheris, and now there is nothing stupid-looking about her at all. Vampires’ daemons regain the power of shapeshifting, and Citheris has been every form imaginable. Adept at seduction, she can be a beautiful slinky white cat, or a charming raven, or a sharp-eyed fox. You will learn, eventually, that she does not remember what form she originally settled in. The two hundred years of torture washed it away. It becomes dreadfully easy to guess how Cazador used her to torture Astarion, hurting her to hurt him. Touching her himself, the vilest transgression you can possibly imagine. In universes where Astarion ascends, Citheris takes on grand, powerful forms: dragon, lion, unicorn. Majestic and fantastic beasts. If he stays a spawn, she begins to spend more and more time as a porcupine. Astarion complains that he has to be careful not to roll over onto her when he sleeps, but you watch him pet her gently when he thinks no one is looking, scratching under her chin where she likes it best.

When Wyll bounds over the wall outside the grove, it is on the back of Patricia, his huge and splendid horse daemon. The long white hair that covers her hooves is in beautiful contrast with the glossy chestnut of her hide, and her deep brown eyes are as serious and kind as Wyll’s. Later, you will find out that the warlock pact protects her from mortal injury unless Wyll himself is killed, making it safe for him to take her into battle. It binds her too, a golden bridle and bit in echo of Mizora’s jewellery, an insult to her wild splendour. Horse daemons are rare in a city as dense and chaotic as Baldur’s Gate, but Wyll never acts as though the restrictions Patricia places on his life are any burden. If anything, he seems happy that the form she settled in gave him another excuse to justify leaving the city and embarking on his career as the Blade of Frontiers. And Patricia never complains when Wyll asks her to carry his backpack. She is the equal of any burden. It is terrible to see Mizora touch her, though she only ever touches the bridle, not Patricia’s fur. Even that is too much. One more reason to long for Wyll’s pact to be broken.

Karlach’s daemon is a thing of beauty and terror. Once, Brant tells you, he was a goose, with a brown back and a dark head. Then Zariel did her experiments, and he became a pheonix. It only compounds the tragedy that Karlach’s suffering made him resplendent. He is gold and red and orange, always ablaze. He need never fear that anyone will break the taboo, because Karlach is the only one who can touch him. Even after Dammon repairs her heart, Brant remains shimmering and aloof. When Dammon warns Karlach of her impending death, Brant asks whether his change means something. “We die and return, don’t we?” he says plaintively. “That’s what a pheonix does. So maybe we’ll get to come back.” But daemons do not work like that. If Karlach does not return to Avernus, he burns with her, and leaves no egg behind. And you miss him forever, kind, brave Brant with his fine tenor voice and his playful humour. Better that they go back to Avernus, where his white hot flames scour hordes of devils and demons, until Karlach finds her cure.

Halsin’s daemon is a bear, of course. She vanishes when Halsin wildshapes into a bear, though you wonder if really it is the man who disappears, and the daemon who becomes complete. Halsin fears the taboo less than others, and when Thaniel is rescued, you see him curled up against Mara’s warm side, her long-clawed paws folded lightly over him. She licks him a few times for good measure, like any fond mother with a cub.

Equally as predictable is Halsin is Minthara, whose daemon could never be anything but a spider. And she is female. Minthara is too firm a believer in drow heirarchies to accept anything else. Ven’vera is deadly poisonous, and beautiful once you look past the initial terror. She is such a stereotype that you almost roll your eyes at it, but she is also one of the few open displays of tenderness that Minthara allows herself. To love a daemon is to love oneself, after all, and that is a virtue for the matriarchs of Menzoberranzan.

Timaeon, Jaheira’s daemon, is a huge and splendid vulture. Plain brown in colouring, but so large that he could never be missed. Though age has dimmed the lustre of his feathers, his eyes are as sharp and bright as ever. He is a survivor, like Jaheira herself, practical and adaptable. He soars over the battlefield, able to go much further from her side than most daemons can, and calls out targets to her when she is engaged. And you learn quickly that you can get on his good side, and thereby Jaheira’s, by offering him slivers of meat from dinner.

As for Minsc, if he has a daemon other than Boo, you never see it. It’s possible that he does, if his daemon is also a rodent, or an insect, or some other small creature. It’s possible that Boo is his daemon, and that the brain damage made him see the hamster as a separate creature. Or it’s possible that the damage done to him destroyed his daemon, and that Boo has chosen, in some way, to serve as a replacement. It’s not a question you can ever ask, and so you never truly know.

*

You can also read this on a03 if you like.

[medra-gonbites]

The Contemplations and Conclusions of Minsc of Rashemen

A steam of consciousness wherein Minsc processes his arrival in the gang and reflects on his new (and old) companions and mission. 

SFW, Stream of consciousness

 Word Count: 2173

Minsc let his eyes scurry around the room. They landed on Jaheira’s corner, next to his. The incense sticks were still fuming passively, fogging the area slightly with the musky scent of cedar.

“I am glad that Jaheira found us again. To think Minsc of Rashemen fell for the trick of a doppelganger! It should have been clear as soon as he saw none of Jaheira’s druidic wisdom behind the traitor’s eyes. Also the very much less wrinkles on the face… Minsc feels ashamed for having failed his Wychlaran!”

His furrowed brow scanned the rest of the room, before turning upside down.

“But, it is a relief that Jaheira met such a group of courageous companions too!”

Minsc pondered a moment. He had not been in their company for so long. In truth he did not know them at all yet, but he had already noticed a lot of things around camp, enough, he thought, to appreciate their respective characters.

Read the rest on AO3 or below the cut!

I have been writing relatively dark stuff recently and while it has been cathartic I wanted to try my hand at something a little bit happier!

Minsc is a hilarious and a very wise orator. He is extremely funny, and although he appears dumb because he uses the wrong words sometimes and fails to understand some nuances, his sentences all make perfect sense and his emotional intelligence is top notch, both when  it comes to himself and when it comes to others.

I got inspired to do a stream of consciousness with Minsc (and Boo as a ghost conversationalist in a way), where he processes his arrival in the gang and reflects on his new (and old) companions. 

image source: my screenshot

Minsc was sitting on the floor of the Elfsong Tavern, mindlessly tapping a rhythm on the stretched skin of the bongos pressed under his arm. After the madness of the last days the ranger was quite relieved to find himself alone; well, safe for Boo, tucked away in the collar of his shirt, napping against his collarbone. 

His new companions knew of his need for respite and had gotten themselves busy today with errands and quests around the city. Shadowheart, Lae’zel, Gale and Astarion had gone to a mansion by the Upper City gate, investigating the paranormal activities reported there. Wyll, Karlach, Halsin and their leader Tav had gone to check a lead on the kidnapping of a little girl, suspecting the mischief of a hag. Jaheira had gone home to visit her children and tighten some loose ends with them, primarily to keep them safe and out of the city. 

Minsc had remained at the Tavern, to reflect on his new entourage, his new mission and his new purpose. He was playing his bongo as he gathered his thoughts. The information was swirling in his head together with the illithid parasite. It was difficult to clear his mind, but he was not sure if this restlessness was caused by the intruder in his brain or simply the overload of news he had to compose with.

A sudden fatigue overtook him. He sighed deeply, resting his hand on the drums, halting the music. He felt Boo stirring by his neck. The rodent emerged with a squeal and climbed onto Minsc's shoulder.

“Ah Boo! I trust you had a good nap? Minsc is still very confused with everything that happened to us as of late. Care to join my contemplations. Maybe you can help make sense of all this?”

The small creature squeaked in response.

“Yes, it is a lot! Minsc cannot believe Minsc was the Stone Lord all along. If only somebody had told him.” Boo peeped in contestation, “You are right my friend; you did tell. Excuse Minsc for not listening.”

Minsc let his eyes scurry around the room. They landed on Jaheira’s corner, next to his. The incense sticks were still fuming passively, fogging the area slightly with the musky scent of cedar.

“I am glad that Jaheira found us again. To think Minsc of Rashemen fell for the trick of a doppelganger! It should have been clear as soon as he saw none of Jaheira’s druidic wisdom behind the traitor’s eyes. Also the very much less wrinkles on the face… Minsc feels ashamed for having failed his Wychlaran!”

His furrowed brow scanned the rest of the room, before turning upside down.

“But, it is a relief that Jaheira met such a group of courageous companions too!”

Minsc pondered a moment. He had not been in their company for so long. In truth he did not know them at all yet, but he had already noticed a lot of things around camp, enough, he thought, to appreciate their respective characters. 

His gaze went to Shadowheart’s bed, across from him. The sheets were neatly folded and the clothes on the duvet laid there, unwrinkled.

“What do you think of Shadowheart, Boo?”

The hamster creaked.

“I too wonder why her eyebrows are not the same colour as her hair… But nevermind her hairy condition, she seems a trustworthy cleric.” Boo scritched, “Ex-sharran, if I heard right.” Minsc corrected him, “I hope she takes care of Minsc when Minsc is injured. Kiss the booboos better”.

The rodent, displeased with the statement, nipped the shoulder of a blushing Minsc.

“Ouch! Not you, Boo!” Boo, squeaked in protestation, “No, no! Minsc wishes not to romance. Shadowheart is a fine lady, with very pretty eyes, but Minsc is betrothed to justice and the kicking of butts!”

Passing Shadowheart bed, Minsc caught sight of Wyll’s bunk. One of his rapier stood against the foot of the bed and his lounging outfit was emerging from under a pillow, shredded in place.

“The Blade of Frontiers! Brave man that Wyll, isn’t he Boo?” Boo gritted his teeth together in response, “That is true. I do not know why the flare for the theatrics and the naming. But people did call Minsc the Stone Lord for years it seems, so who is he to judge? I hope that Wyll can escape his patron’s wicked paperwork soon! Do you think his forehead would go back to normal?” 

Minsc reached out to his own brow, touching the skin at the edge of his skull. As usual, it was smooth and hairless, keeping his head light and his vision unobstructed. Boosquawked at Minsc.

“Oh no, not at all! Minsc finds him dashing with the horns! Like a powerful ram, ready to charge into battle! But Minsc is concerned: It looks heavy on the boy’s head. Also a problem if he is ever in need of a hat… Maybe it is a problem Karlach has  also.”

Minsc thought of the fiery tiefling barbarian for a moment and at the glowing red fire that swole in her chest when she felt anger rise within her.

“Fierce berserker, like us Boo! Karlach is one of the warmest warriors I have ever met and blessed with the biggest heart of them all.” Faced with his companions’ squeaking noise, Minsc clarifies, “Yes, Minsc knows she does not have a heart: I am doing a figure of the poetics: a superbole if you will. Let us hope that she finds a cure before it is all said and done. If she ever needs a heart, Minsc would gladly donate his”.

The giant lifted a hand and placed it to the right side of his chest. Boo raised his head towards the ranger, wiggling his nose at him.

“But you gave your liver to your dying cousin! Are you sure I cannot?” The nose wiggled once more, “Hm… Confusing how some organs you can give and some you cannot; Medicine is a strange science. Perhaps Gale could explain.”

Minsc winces at the idea, before waving it off dismissively. Last time he had attempted to have a conversation with the mage, he had found himself feeling simple and small, and neither feeling was representative of what Minsc was in reality.

“On second thoughts, Minsc is not keen on receiving another lecture. Do you know what he called Minsc yesterday, Boo?” The hamster let out an inquisitive screech, “A coverslut! Lies! Nobody is more virtuous than Minsc!” Boo squawked a reply, “Why, yes, Minsc was wearing a stained undershirt, but it’s no excuse to insult!” 

Boo squealed louder, Minsc opened his eyes wide as if struck by an epiphany.

“Aaaah! Is that so! Well, I should apologize then… I made peace with the idea that the wizard and Minsc will always struggle to understand each other. Although his sadness is easy to get. He misses his goddess very much and cannot find his value without her. I too was once lost without Jaheira… Maybe we can convince one of your brothers to befriend Gale, so that he can find his value and trust in the eyes of a furry friend like Minsc did?”

Boo yipped in disagreement and Minsc raised a hand before him.

“Yes, he does already have a cat but… Alright, alright! I did not know you were in such quarrels with your family… The intricacies of hamster politics is lost on Minsc. But it reminds me of Lae’zel’s struggle with her people.” Boo let out a panicked screech, “Yes I compare; you two are more similar than you think! She is fierce, and bloodthirsty and eager for battle just like Boo is! Besides, she promised she would not eat you…” 

Minsc hesitated a moment, wanting to ask something to his rodent companion but not daring to. He finally built up the courage to do so and with a cautionary tone he began.

“Say… Lae’zel also told that Boo did not look like any other giant space hamster she had seen and that… Maybe!.. You might be just a regular hamster. Is that true?”

Outraged by the question, Boo bit hard into the flesh of Minsc's neck. 

“Aïyaaah!” the ranger screamed, bringing a hand to the bite to rub the pain away, “You have spent too much time with Astarion! I know you enjoy his panache, but Minsc can do without the teeth.”

As he massaged the area of the bite, Minsc was reminded of the puncture holes on the side of the vampire’s neck and of the scars he had seen on the vampire’s back when the latter had changed into his armor that very morning.

“To think of the horrors that he must have seen and borne. But he still smiles and laughs. Mostly when he is covered in bits and innards, but still. Minsc has respect for Astarion. Let’s pray he will make the right choice when he must… But I do not doubt that he will.”

Boo walked down Minsc's arm to lay in his open palm. 

“Indeed my friend! I cannot wait to go kick this Cazador’s vampire butt!”

The Rachemi looks at his familiar with tenderness. Like most rangers, Minsc had a privileged relationship with his familiar, that went beyond those of a pet and his master. Boo was his friend, his mentor, his leader. He felt the same appreciation toward Tav, the alpha of this pack.

“Ah Boo! I think we can both agree that Tav is as mighty as their name is stupid! What great mind to be able to command fine heroes such as all of us.” Boo licked his paw which he wiped on his face, “Yes, that is true; they are a bit weird sometimes. Like when they stare in the void for hours. Or drop their gear on the floor. Or run in circles around camp - like the dog, hum.. Scratch?- to talk to everyone. That is odd. But aren’t we all?”

Minsc looked around him, to the cozy floor and comfortable bedding surrounding him.

“They sure do know how to talk their way into a soft bed. Not to forget the sting of their sword and the fly of their fist.”

What a heart-warming group of adventurers, Minsc thought. None braver, no one tougher, no one stronger than them. The ill-matched but mighty bunch they formed together in camaraderie and…

Boo let out a shrill shriek pulling Minsc back to reality.

“Who?” He asked, a puzzled expression bending the purple sphere on his forehead and eye.

Boo creaked.

“Halsin? Minsc does not recall anyone by this n…” Minsc trailed off, catching a glimpse of Halsin’s gear next to Jaheira’s, “Ah yes! The feeble elf who smells of mud.” 

The ranger tried to shake the bitterness in his tone under the critical eye of Boo.

“Yes, well he is a druid. Of that we already have one, so that makes him rhododendron.” Boo’s glare was intense and Minsc felt urged to continue in a more praising manner, “But he seems like a gentle soul, and has been caring for the owlbear cub very well.”

Looking riveted at his hamster companion, Minsc could not help but feel hints of doubt and powerlessness tugged in his stomach. With fear in his eyes the gentle giant brought his hand to his face to level the creature with his eyes, and starring in the little black beads on the rodent’s face he inquired:

“Will you leave me for him, Boo?”

Boo jumped on Minsc's nose and climbed up to settle on top of his head. He squeaked triumphantly.

“Good! For a moment, Minsc was afraid you had found a stronger nature lover to adventure with!”

Boo flattened against the curve of Minsc’s skull. Laying on the smooth dome, the animal quickly dozed off into slumber. Reassured and relaxing, Minsc resumed his percussion on the drum.  He found it easier to clear his head now, after organizing and voicing his thoughts. 

The man was grateful to be allowed such times for introspection and meditation. It did him good to be able to form a bond with his new friends even without them present. 

In the coming days they would descend into the Temple of Bhaal and face the horrors of Orin and her followers. It was not the first time he was confronted by a spawn of Bhaal. He hoped it would be his last though: but no matter the 3rd or 10th time. He would get rid of this evil one way or the other. He needed to trust his company. He needed to trust himself again. 

After that it was the brain. After that it would be the Guild. After that there would be another evil to tame no doubt and innocent to protect once more. Regardless of when, Minsc was ready to be there.

[dragonsfell]

jaheira banter from bg2, part 1.

DO NOT REBLOG. Here's some conversations from Jaheira in Baldur's Gate 2; that I wanted to highlight. I owe the enhanced editions of the originals and play to plan again, but I wanted to share some some the interactions Jaheira had; to see where she came from // i wanted these saved on the blog // a warning that given the age of these games and the edition of D&D they spawn from; fantasy racism was at its height and everywhere and alignments were ever present & very black and white

With Aeerie ; a wingless avariel (winged elf) and lawful good cleric

Aerie: This... this light makes your hair look really pretty, Jaheira. Jaheira: Don't be a fool, it does nothing of the sort. Aerie: But— Jaheira: Put your silly romantic notions aside, Aerie. This isn't some childish fantasy, nor some grand adventure. Any one of us could die out here at any moment. Aerie: But we can go to the priests and—and they raise us from the dead again, as good as new, can't we? Jaheira: Sometimes they don't come back! Sometimes some people, no matter how much you love them and no matter what you try to do, get... they get taken away. You're young, Aerie... You'll figure it out soon enough.

the rest will be under th cut, because there a lot I wanna share. DO NOT REBLOG.

With Anomen ; a lawful neutral human fighter/cleric

Anomen: Lady Jaheira, it seems quite strange to me that a woman of clearly noble past would choose the life of an adventurer. What has brought you to this dangerous path? Jaheira: It is a path of conscience. Some druids choose a contemplative lifestyle, but I sought a more active role in the furthering of nature's cause. And you? Did you become a priest of Helm only for honor and glory? Anomen: Of course not. The righteous path ever beckons. It is merely a dividend of the Order that a member can make a place for himself in this difficult world. Jaheira: I see. What place you choose to make for yourself remains to be seen. Anomen: It does, but I assure you that you will not be disappointed. - - - - - Jaheira: You wear the scars of battle with pride, Anomen, like one who truly believes his cause. Anomen: I must. It is what pushes me forward. Doubt is the enemy. Jaheira: Those that never question do not see the whole of the issue. Anomen: The whole issue is not important. There is only the here and now, and what can be done within. Jaheira: Your world is small, if focused. The more impressive picture is always larger than you can see.

With Dorn ; a neutral-evil half-orc

Dorn: You have fire. I respect that. But I warn you, druid: Attempt to poison me again and you will not see the next sunrise. Jaheira: What nonsense are you babbling? Dorn: This concoction. You neglected to account for my orc blood. Next time, try something more potent. Jaheira: Do not be ridiculous. I am a druid, not an assassin. Dorn: Then how do you explain this vile brew? Jaheira: It is a mixture of myrtle and willow— Dorn: IT IS POISON. Jaheira: Drink it, Il-Khan. Or next time I will leave your wounds untended.

With Haer'Dalis ; a chaotic neutral tiefling blade

Haer'Dalis: Why do you stare at me so, Jaheira? Have I offended you? My manner is oft grim, but I did not think you so sensitive to it. Jaheira: No, no, I find your wit a treat, especially when it is unleashed upon the hapless that did not see it laying in wait. Haer'Dalis: Then why the glances as my head turns away? Jaheira: Forgive me the curiosity, but you are quite alien to me. You are not of this place and do not fit into the natural order, at least not by design. Haer'Dalis: Ahh, then you are wary and are intent on keeping me under guard?Jaheira: Not so much, but I am interested to see where your niche finds itself. I am wondering what you will balance, for all things have their counterpart. Haer'Dalis: I see. Perhaps I straddle the fence, providing my own balance. Perhaps I drop things on either side as whim dost take me. Jaheira: Or perhaps you enjoy the discord of chaos because you have not found that niche yet. We shall see. - - - - - Haer'Dalis: Ah, my hound, this city be the great world of commerce! Perhaps we can sell Jaheira? Jaheira: *groan* Cut your wit, bard. The day has been long already without adding hours to it. Haer'Dalis: Cut my wit? Why, certainly, if I could only use your nose's razor edge to perform the task. Jaheira: Aye, it seems I've sharpened it upon the grindstone of your heart. Haer'Dalis: Well, my frumpy ptarmigan, I must protest— Jaheira: "Methinks thou dost protest too much." Aye, I can quote the poets too. If you must protest, I respond only to hunger strikes and, even then, too late. Haer'Dalis: Oh, <CHARNAME>, raven of sympathy! Yon woman is stifling my creativity and stealing thunder from my wit! I swear I cannot work amidst the lashings of her tongue!

With Hexxat ; a neutral evil vampire thief

Jaheira: You should know that I neither trust nor like you, Hexxat. Hexxat: I'd have been happier simply suspecting as much. Jaheira: <CHARNAME> seems to like you well enough, and I have great respect for HIM/HER Hexxat: As do I. Jaheira: I know you did not seek to become what you are. I will try to look past it as best I can. Hexxat: Thank you, Jaheira. I shall try to prove myself worthy of your respect. - - - - - Jaheira: I must admit you have surprised me, vampire. Hexxat: Oh? Jaheira: I expected you to betray us at the earliest opportunity. Yet you still remain by <CHARNAME>'s side. Hexxat: I would feel the same in your position. Jaheira: I would still slay you, given the opportunity. Hexxat: I'll be sure to bear that in mind. Jaheira: But for now... I am willing to accept your place in the party. Hexxat: That means a lot to me, Jaheira. Sincerely. Thank you.

With Keldorn ; a lawful good human inquisitor

Jaheira: Keldorn? You look pensive. Are you well? Keldorn: I am well enough, Jaheira, though our circumstance gives me reason to pause. Jaheira: Hmm. I have been thinking as well. It is hard to draw a line in the sand and say, "This side represents balance; this other side does not." Keldorn: Balance? Would that balance were the worst of our worries. Jaheira: Ah. Having trouble with the black and white aspects? Keldorn: That would be an understatement. I am quite certain of what evil lies ahead, but I am finding problems with identifying the "good" path around it. Jaheira: I'm not sure what to say. We do what we can when the opportunity presents itself. Keldorn: That would be all that can be asked. Torm guide us; we need his wisdom.

With Mazzy ; a lawful goodd halfing fighter

Jaheira: Oh, omnipresent authority figure, what are your commands now?Mazzy: Jaheira, there is a level of sarcasm in your tone that is perhaps unnecessary. We have a leader that honestly tries to anticipate our needs... 1. Player: Heed Mazzy well, Jaheira. Mazzy: As I was saying, <HE/SHE> has enough trouble keeping this ragtag group together. Perhaps it would be better to be more constructive, and less... Jaheira: Bitchy? Mazzy: If that is how you wish to put it, yes. Jaheira: Worry not for the feelings of <CHARNAME>, small one, as <HE/SHE> and I go far back and have an understanding of sorts. Mazzy: As you will. It was only a humble suggestion. I've no wish to intrude upon your relationship with <CHARNAME>.

[immobiliter]

i also wanted to talk about jaheira for a minute because i am lucky enough to have friends/rp partners who have given me the opportunity to think about how a romance with her would work during the bg3 timeline~

first off, the woman is a 150 year old half elf... labels don't matter to her lmao. gender doesn't matter to her. i think what does matter is connection and, as i'll come to in a bit, commitment. we obviously know from the previous games and the mentions in bg3 that khalid was a very important individual and relationship to her and, even if you romance her in bg2, the impact of khalid's death is always There in the narrative. but bg2 takes place over a hundred years before bg3, and bg3 doesn't give us any indication that gorion's ward romanced her by default. khalid still lives on in her heart, he always will, but those scars are no longer raw. i don't think jaheira has been celibate in the years since his death, but i also don't think she has ever settled with another life partner because a deep-seated fear of losing a loved one still exists within her.

you only have to look at the somewhat dysfunctional dynamic she has with her kids. "mother dear was sometimes more commander than... well, mother dear." she has always been a harsh tongued, hard faced woman who has difficulty with the sentimental and emotional ( hence why she and khalid were the perfect pair ), but i think with age that has probably gotten worse and, while it's clear that she loves her children dearly, she loves them in her own way. she's stern but fair, she spends a lot of time away from home and expects a great deal from her children despite how much she cares for them. she allows and encourages their independence but at the expense of being a tactile and emotionally open mother.

she tends to keep them at arm's length, and i think this would extend to any potential romantic partner of hers too. so while the physical aspect of a relationship isn't necessarily something she's opposed to ( blowing off steam or the like ), i think actually getting her to open up to and commit to another person is the true challenge if you wish to romance jaheira. also, given that she is a lot older than most of the other canon companions, i think it ideally needs to be someone who is her equal — whether that's in age or life experience, or simply someone who can match her in wit or fortitude.

[perce-jpg]

i need to do karlach studies shes one of my favorites but i can’t seem to nail her face stylization

[b4ldurians-archive]

canon muse tag drop pt. 1

astarion / study : the pale elf !

gale / study : the wizard of waterdeep !

halsin / study : the archdruid !

jaheira / study : the high harper !

karlach / study : hellion heart !

lae'zel / study : the githyanki warrior !

minsc / study : legendary planeswalker !

shadowheart / study : daughter of darkness !

us / study : rogue intellect devourer !

wyll / study : the blade of frontiers !

[astarions-wife]

Ranking Baldur’s Gate 3 Characters/Companions on if they’d be successful in helping you lace a corset.

Astarion: 11/10. He wears them himself, he probably even judges you on how you’re doing it wrong. He has it down to a science.

Shadowheart: 7/10. She wears that corset top to bed. She’s all for the use and style, but she prefers the ones without laces. Probably could do it, but with practice.

Minsc: 5/10. He says “Why do our QUEENS wear these things…” he doesn’t get it. But if asked to help lace a corset, it’s not that he couldn’t—it’s just he’d probably ask Boo to do it.

Lae’zel: 8/10 on skill, because she definitely can, but why would she? She’d click her tongue and call you weak for needing assistance.

Wyll: 10/10, he studies it to be a gentleman. He knows the correct tensions, how hard to pull, how to tie them, etc. he even knows the front lace ones.

Karlach: 6/10. Once the heat is cooled down enough so that she can touch you, I think she’s just so excited to have physical contact with anyone that she forgets the task at hand. She’d have to be reminded frequently.

Jaheira: 9/10, but in a practical way. Like she helps you lace them, while expressing concern about how tight they are, and focuses on doing it right to be supportive and practical for combat.

Gale: 2/10. Don’t get me wrong, he does it right. But he definitely has some kind of spell to do it for him. Now taking it off? That’s a 10/10, a proper science.

Aylin: 12/10, laces Isobel’s corset while proclaiming her love for her. It’s an art form, and Aylin has conquered it.

Isobel: No data. Hasn’t laced a corset since Aylin came back.

Halsin: 7/10, he definitely knows how! I just think he goes off about the “oak father” and how corsets are against natures very way as he’s doing it.

Orin: 0/10, would she even need to? She snaps her fingers to change forms. She wears human flesh on her body. She’d cut a corset off, and then probably you in the process.

Gortash: -2/10. The man can’t even lace his own shirt, let alone someone’s corset.

[kingthunder]

I saw a few of those "bg3 characters driving a car" headcanons and decided to do one myself for fun.

Lae'zel: She learned how to drive on the opposite side of the road from everyone else and her instincts are all wrong for her current location, but back home she's an excellent driver with a spotless driving record. She actually follows the service schedule in the car manual. She gets incensed at people who don't maintain their vehicle properly or who disobey road rules. Her car is immaculately clean. She would love to speed a motorcycle down one of those desert highways with no speed limit, but she's never gotten the opportunity and knows it's too reckless besides. But she wants to.

Karlach: She's had a motorcycle for ages and is a skilled if aggressive driver. However, she only recently learned how to drive a car. She is very enthusiastic about it and always volunteers to drive even though she's not very good yet. She's one of those people that do driving "pranks" like swerving back and forth to make people shriek/laugh, or doing "3, 2, 1 BLASTOFF" and gunning it. Could easily be provoked into an impromptu street race. Drives way too far on empty or with the check engine light on.

Shadowheart: Drives stick so that no one else can drive her car. It's a beat up old station wagon with a busted tail light and looks like shit on the outside, but inside she turned it into a goth mobile with like black velvet seat covers and stuff. She named the car but she won't tell you what. She has an air freshener hanging from the rear view mirror that smells like night orchids. She's a perfectly good boring driver with nothing to note about it UNTIL one day a cop tries to pull her over for her busted tail light and she hits the gas and pulls out all these street racing moves that you had no idea she was capable of and shakes the cop. She'll let you pick the music but if she doesn't like it her silent disapproval is so withering that you voluntarily change it to something she does like.

Astarion: Never got a driver's license and isn't about to get one now. Passenger princess who likes to control the radio but his taste in music sucks. He makes funny mean comments about other drivers and pedestrians. He'll complain if you ask him to fill the gas tank but he'll do it; you're paying for it, though. Actually pretty fun to go on a road trip with because he doesn't care about stuff like "making good time" and he's up for stopping anywhere that looks like it might be entertaining.

Gale: Never got a driver's license because he was always too busy with his studies to care and his mom drove him around and/or did all his errands for him anyway. He's real good at maps though and likes to be helpful by being the navigator. He's the smartest man in the world but he's completely stymied by a gas pump; you're better off pumping the gas yourself and sending him into the gas station for snacks. He always manages to conjure a full meal out of convenience food, somehow, and he's really good at feeding you while you drive.

Wyll: He saved up and bought his own fixer-upper car after getting kicked out of the house as a teenager. Good driver in general. People always think he would make a good designated driver, but actually he likes drinking socially and will politely decline requests to be the DD unless there's no one else available. Sometimes when he's having a bad day he blasts music really loud and finds a deserted area to just fuckin tear ass down as fast as he can go (he'll only do this alone and doesn't tell anyone about it). Never lets you pay for gas even if you offer. Will pick up hitchhikers.

Halsin: Has been driving the same car since 1973. Drives that specific car really well. If you gave him a modern car he would have no idea what anything on the dashboard does. Honestly, he prefers to walk or bike anyway.

Jaheira: Has a fuck-off huge SUV full of empty cans and wrappers from her kids. Absolute maniac of a driver who tailgates and speeds with no regard for road signs or lane markings. She is going to GET where she is GOING and gods help you if you get in the way.

Minsc: Failed the driving test three times and just gets rides from Jaheira. This does not bother him in the slightest. He tells you that Boo can drive vehicles you've never even heard of.

Minthara: Has run someone over on purpose.

[eff-plays]

God I love the bard-specific options in the game. They're SO annoying and appropriate.

An NPC will be all threatening and scary and you can be like "I'll have you know ... I can sing at least 3 songs😏"

Or someone might ask what you can offer them as payment and you can just go "Hmm. A ballad or perhaps a ditty? A poem?"

Or when Jaheira asks if you've been changed by the tadpole and you can just go "So much has happened during my travels. Who's to say it's the tadpoles that changed me?💅" which is just a really obnoxious response.

Or every time you come across some obscure bullshit and you'll be like "Ah yes ... the tales of Bongo the Boisterous. I've studied his teachings at college. Majored in Bongonian studies, among many others."

[charmandabear]

Yule

Summary:

While snuggling by the Yule fire, you forget just how sensitive elf ears can be.

Pairing: Astarion/f!Reader Rating: E Word Count: 2.2k Tags/Warnings: post-game spoilers, cunnilingus, blood drinking, p in v sex, spawn!Astarion, soft!Astarion, fluff and smut, Astarion deserves to be bitten too

Read it on AO3.

Enough people said they'd still be interested in reading holiday-related fics even after the holidays, so here you go! Huge shout-outs to Idylla for their incredible art used in the banner. Their modern!Astarion absolutely ruins me.

Midwinter Nights: Yule | Christmas | New Year's Eve

Astarion curled against you as the Yule fire burned low in the hearth. You knew he wouldn’t be able to stay awake all night, despite his insistence to the contrary. It amused you even more because, as an elf, he didn’t really need to sleep. But he had grown so accustomed to it at this point, snuggling up with you each night as you got your mandatory eight hours, it was a harder habit to break. 

You had only just put the most recent batch of cookies in the oven, but you were a little concerned for what would happen when you needed to take them out. Astarion was much like a cat in that way; if he climbed on top of you, it was a crime to disturb him. You could lay there forever, pinned beneath his weight, and you’d thank the gods for it. 

You peered down at him, sleeping so peacefully. He almost looked like a cat, pointy ears occasionally flicking at the warm air that emanated from the fire. You could practically see his tail swishing contentedly. Ever since killing Cazador and reclaiming his freedom, he’d been so drawn to creature comforts, looking for softness and indulgence in all he could find. 

You ran your fingers through his white curls, scratching his scalp absentmindedly. He shifted in his sleep, subconscious nudging him into your touch. You would sit here all night if you could, nails dancing over his pale skin while he slept soundly. You knew that eventually your timer would go off and you would need to take this latest batch of cookies out. But for now, at least, you could just enjoy having him pressed up against your side.

You stared into the fire as your hand wandered, gently stroking his back, his shoulders, his neck. You marveled at how much had changed in these past few months. Karlach and Wyll ventured to Avernus to fight on the front lines of the Blood War, and while you missed them, you knew you were only a ritual away from seeing them at the House of Hope. Gale had gone back to continue his studies in Waterdeep, and Lae’zel found herself living a surprising life of domestic bliss with Shadowheart, newly reunited with her parents. You haven’t heard much from Halsin, Jaheira, or Minsc, but you were certain that they were finding respite wherever they were. 

As you’re getting lost in your thoughts, you stopped paying attention to where your hand flitted across Astarion’s skin; that is, until you heard a breathy moan escape his lips. You looked down and realized that you were running the tip of your pointer around the shell of his ear. You pulled away suddenly, embarrassed as you realized you were basically doing the elf equivalent of teasing his nipples. He whined at the sudden loss of contact, and you sat frozen, unsure if he was awake or not. 

He stirred, legs squirming against a definitive bulge growing in his loose pants. He sat up and blinked sleepily, gears turning as he put together where he was. He turned to you and suddenly his eyes focused, pupils wide like a cat focused on its prey. 

“If you wanted something, you could’ve just asked, you know,” he said in a low purr, and you could feel yourself clench in response to the fire his words stoked deep in your core. 

“Sorry love, it was an accident,” you whispered, trying to sound cool but the crack in your voice gave you away. 

“Accident or no, you’ve made your bed, so I hope you’re ready to lie in it,” he said with a grin, fangs glinting in the firelight. He launched himself onto you, kissing you roughly as he tangled his hands in your hair. You tried to regain your breath as you kissed him back, your hands scrambling for purchase on his clean linen shirt. Your body bent back with the weight of his as he shifted on top of you, prying your legs open with his knee. An unseemly moan escaped your lips as he pressed his hardness right up to the apex of your thighs. You ran your fingers through his hair, though whether it was to regain control or just hang on for dear life, you couldn’t tell. 

Between the heat radiating from the fire, the slight delirium from staying up all night, and the way that your arousal for this man made your head swim, you could barely think straight. He continued to roll his hips into you obscenely, and you could feel the telltale dampness seeping into your small clothes. You spread your legs a little wider, trying to feel that delicious friction through the several layers of fabric that separated you. 

You broke the kiss to take in a gulp of air, beginning to feel a bit lightheaded. His lips migrated to your neck, flicking the tip of his tongue along the puncture wound that had only recently closed up. A shudder surged through your body at the sensation and you squirmed involuntarily, your body urging you closer to his. You rolled your head away from him, presenting your neck as a silent offering as you had so many times before. He needed no further invitation and sunk his teeth into the sensitive flesh, your simultaneous groans of pleasure mingling together in your ears. You knew you were courting danger by letting him bite when you were already woozy, but it was worth the risk for the good it did you both. He always became a little more powerful, a little more dominant right after drinking your blood; for you, the feeling of him siphoning just a little of your life force away gave you an unmatched feeling of ecstasy.

He detached himself from your neck and looked down at you, panting. The sight of him post-feeding always sent you into a frenzy. His cheeks and ears uncharacteristically flushed, his bloody lips in a sedate half-smile, hair a tousled mess, and a wild look in his eyes like he was ready to devour you. You could only imagine what he saw in return; your hair splayed out beneath you, eyes glassy, mouth open in a suspended moan as blood trickled down your neck.

He ran a hand down the front of your blouse and you arched your back to meet his touch. He was still pressed between your legs, your knees hooked around his waist. He ran a finger along the waistband of your pants, causing you to whine needily.

“Tell me what it is you want, pet,” he purred, the predatory cat out in full force. Your hips bucked up against him as you grasped at the rug beneath you. He looked so gorgeous in the orangey firelight, his skin soft and glowy. You pawed wantonly at the hem of his shirt, any semblance of speech leaving your body. He grabbed your flailing wrists and pinned them above your head, bringing his lips within an inch of yours.

“Your words, love. Tell me what you want,” he growled, a little more forcefully than before, eliciting another desperate mewl. 

“Ah- I.. Astarion,” you pled with him and he grinned, fangs pressing into your lips.

“Yes?” The word was a breathless whisper. He looked down the length of his nose at you, crimson eyes piercing into you.

“I want you to taste me,” you squeaked out, writhing beneath the hard length of his body. He pressed his lips to your ear just as he pressed his erection into your mound.

“Good girl,” he hissed, and pushed off your chest to slink downward to your hips. He grabbed your waistband and slid your pants down over your ass, dragging his cool hands across your heated skin. He pressed his lips into your hip and you arched into him, yearning to feel him on every inch of you. Your skin prickled from the heat of the fire, his contrasting touch making you shiver. 

He traveled downward, each kiss pulling a new and more debaucherous sound from your throat. His lips hovered above yours and he relished in making you twitch with need. After a second of teasing that felt like an eternity, he swiped his tongue along your slit and you groaned in relief. He dug his fingers into your thighs as he gently lapped at your folds, making you feel more heated with each pass. He spread your lips apart with his dexterous fingers, tracing lazy shapes with the tip of his tongue.

Your fingers curled into his hair once more, hoping to regain control of your cantering hips. He pushed his tongue deeper into you and your breath grew ragged, your hips begging to fully fuck his face. He relented to your control, letting you grind on his lips and tongue to chase your own satisfaction. Your cries grew in tandem with the pressure that mounted in your core, and this time when your hands wandered to stroke his ears, it was intentional. He moaned into your cunt, a deep, primal sound that sent vibrations directly to your clit, sending you over the edge. He buried his face into you as you rode out the waves of your orgasm, thighs squeezing around his head.

He pulled away once the pulses had subsided and you delighted to see his disheveled face, your juices reflecting in the firelight. He roughly pulled you up onto his lap, pulling your still sensitive swell down hard onto his erection. You moaned into his lips, sharing the taste of you with him.

“You saucy little minx,” he growled even as you could feel his smile through the kiss. Your fingers fumbled at his waistband, desperate to free him and feel him inside you. He peeled your blouse over the top of his head just as you released his cock from his trousers, tip already glistening with precum. Your breath hitched at the sight of it, your pussy already aching to be filled.

The length of his cock teased your folds, and he cupped one of your breasts in his hand, the pad of his thumb skating over the pert nipple. You threw your head back, raising your tits up with a heaving breath just so he could latch on with his mouth, suckling gently. Your arms around his neck, you danced your fingers close to his ear, teasing him as much as you were asking him for more. He pulled off your nipple with a pop and stared red hot daggers into you.

“Careful love. Mess with the cat and get the claws,” he warned in a low and dangerous whisper. He raised your hips up and pulled you down in one fell stroke onto his stiffened cock. The cry he tore out of you was your most obscene yet, but you were already so wet and hungry for him that you slid down to his base without resistance.

You began to ride his dick, your knees pressing against the floor as he stretched you out with every thrust. Now it was his turn to toss his head back, leaving his pale throat open and vulnerable. You sunk your teeth into the cold flesh, your dull human incisors not actually piercing skin, but eliciting a delicious groan from him nonetheless. He kept his hands squarely on your hips as you bounced up and down, relishing the slide of him along your inner walls.

You wanted to see him lose himself in you. You wanted him to come undone like you were. You needed more of those breathy moans in your ear as he unleashed the predator within.

You nipped at his earlobe.

Almost as though an external force possessed his body, he slammed you down onto your back without pulling out of you. He pushed your knees up to your ears and pounded into you forcefully, the edge of your second orgasm rapidly approaching. Your tits bounced with the force of his thrusts, and it took everything in your power to keep your eyes open so you could watch him unravel above you. Sweat beaded on his forehead and his red eyes looked down on you, positively feral. You could see his fangs through the soft o-shape his mouth formed as he came, his orgasm sending you crashing into yours. You could still feel his cock throbbing inside you with each burst of his seed even as your vision slowly faded into black.

You awoke a few moments later curled up on some pillows and a cool washcloth laid across your forehead. Next to you was a glass of water which you gulped down eagerly.

Astarion came back into the room, face still looking deliciously flushed and bitten, with a small plate of cookies. He kneeled down next to you and held one up to your lips, and you accepted the snack without hesitation. He pulled the washcloth from your forehead and kissed your cool damp skin, his lips almost warm in comparison.

“Love, you can't scare me like that. I thought I fucked you into a coma. If you're feeling unwell, say something,” he said, red eyes full of concern. You wave it off with a shrug.

“What can I say? Maybe I like messing with the cat,” you respond with a giggle as you bite down on your cookie, teeth bared playfully.

[petit-etoile]

Congrats on 200 followers! :D For drabble ideas, how about one where Tav is becoming overwhelmed from being the leader of their group and they end up having a bit of a breakdown in camp, so Astarion whisks them away and dotes on them for the evening to help soothe some of their worries.

i  am  tired  of  being  brave

pairing: astarion/tav wordcount:  1,036 content warnings: none other tags: canon compliant, introspection, character study, idiots in love, established relationship, gender neutral tav, human!tav archiveofourown: here.

tag list: @azrielshadows1nger, @pandimoostuff, @faevi, @microskies, @foreverthemaraudersera, @queenofthespacesquids, @claryvoyantfray, @6doodlaang14, @anne-isnotokay, @itshimbotime, @yeeteth-the-raven, @sessils,@8-opossums, @worryknotdear, @abirdaboxandachippedcup, be added to the taglist here

summary: All you want is to get away from everything. Astarion indulges you.

‘Enough!’ you shout.

Lae’zel and Shadowheart have the decency to look properly chagrined when they peer over at you, frozen as if turned to stone. Shadowheart’s knife dips underneath Lae’zel’s chin, but the pretense of applied pressure goes away. You have no idea what hour it is or how long they’ve been going at it but the little patience you have snaps like a fine thread.

‘We have only gotten this far because we trust each other,’ you snap at them, pulling your nightshirt tighter around your shoulders. ‘But if you want to ruin that, leave me out of it!’

In what is likely the silliest mistake to make, you turn around and march to your bedroll to pick up your hunting knife and then march beyond the outskirts of camp  —  beyond Halsin and Jaheira and Gale and Wyll and Karlach, and Withers who seems to be musing over the situation with faint interest.

If Shadowheart and Lae’zel want to fight to the death, let them! You’ve done all that you can to get the group this far. You’re tired, you’ve been woken up two nights in a row, and you’ve had it with the drama.

You plunge yourself through the nearest bush you can find and sit next to running water, your arms pulled across your chest to keep the breeze from chilling you to the bone. You’re miserable beneath the moonlight. You can’t remember the last time you’ve slept more than four hours.

You almost doze off in the underbrush beneath a tree, but then there’s a hand sliding over your mouth and a body behind yours, somehow wedged behind you once your eyes closed. You gasp and try to reach for your knife, but Astarion tuts and continues sliding between you and the tree. It would be annoying if you weren’t relieved it was him. You relax back against him despite the feeling that your heart is going to leap out of your throat.

‘You shouldn’t fall asleep in the woods,’ Astarion warns you. ‘There are terrible beasts that have made this place their hunting ground.’

You shiver. ‘I didn’t mean to fall asleep,’ you say. ‘I just needed to get away.’

He hums. ‘Did something happen back at the camp?’

It doesn’t do any good to keep secrets, and your other companions had already witnessed it. You tell Astarion about Lae’zel and Shadowheart’s never ending fight. It doesn’t make sense to keep attacking one another, especially since the Artefact is the only reason the worms haven’t burrowed deeper into your skulls. It wears you down every day to keep making decisions for everyone when there are people with better experience. Everyone looks to you no matter how much you wish they’d look elsewhere. You never wanted this fellowship to hang on your every word. You just wanted allies.

‘It’s hardly fair,’ Astarion agrees. ‘To have the weight of this…Absolute sitting on your shoulders. I can’t imagine what it must be like to wrangle us all into cohabitation.’

‘Some discomforts are easier to resolve than others,’ you say. ‘It was easy making everyone throw their stakes away.’

‘I’m fairly certain Wyll kept his,’ Astarion snorts.

‘Yes, but he doesn’t wake us all up holding it at your neck,’ you say, elbowing him. ‘They don’t have to become friends or lovers or anything of the sort. They just have to get along until we arrive at Baldur’s Gate.’

Baldur’s Gate still seems so very far away. Acknowledging this drags you down more than you wish it to. You’re tired of walking and fighting and lying your way out of every other conflict. You miss your family and your life before the worm. The only good that’s come of it is Astarion. He lets you lounge on him when you please in exchange for some blood, and…

It’s more than that.

Astarion lets you do whatever the hell you please as long as it doesn’t annoy him. You’re free to nap in his tent or sit at his side while he reads, and he’s even allowed you to style his delicate curls with pomade. He lets you kiss him if you ask, holds your hand. If you asked him to kill someone for you, you’re certain he would without question.

Reluctantly, you sit forward. ‘I should probably head back,’ you admit. ‘I should make sure everyone is still alive.’

‘To the hells with it,’ Astarion disagrees. He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you back. ‘You close your eyes and sleep. Let them come looking for us if it troubles them that much.’

‘And if Shadowheart kills Lae’zel?’

‘I’m almost certain Lae’zel would win,’ he says. ‘But, I have no doubt they’ll behave. You, on the other hand, are being naughty.’

You laugh but you do as you're told. You worm further in the roots and lean back against him. It’s chilly, but having someone else there does wonders for how willing you are to fall asleep. It’s almost nice how secluded you are away from the drama and stress. You almost wish you were a vampire so that you could sneak out and use hunting as an excuse.

The respect for all you do is nice. Sure, Halsin and Jaheira have both commended you for how hard you work for your age, but it isn’t the same. You still stand in the middle of camp trying to handle things on your own. The planning, the decisions. They somehow fall on your shoulders. A little more input would be nice, or a sign from a god that you’re doing the right thing. You try not to think about it as you feel sleep edge toward your consciousness. Astarion hums softly in your ear, and though it’s uneven, you can’t help but think it’s so off-tune that it’s lovely.

You yawn so hard your jaw pops, and Astarion hushes you, kissing idly behind your ear. It lulls you into an ease you haven’t experienced for a while. You melt into the touch. If you could purr, you would.

‘This,’ Astarion says, ‘is what you deserve. To relax here in my arms. Sleep now, and we’ll deal with what shall come in the morning.’

[scuttlingcrab]

Raphael telling Tav, "I've grown quite fond of you, in my way. Perhaps too fond."

Thank you so much for this prompt! I thought it would be fun to feature Tailor Tav, from A Perfect Fit and Dressed to Kill, as there is another prompt I recieved I'm hoping to feature her in soon. x

Summary: Raphael shares a drink with Tav at the Last Light Inn, hoping to entice her with a new proposition.

Link to my other work in the Devil's Archive.

Shadowy Deals

(Image via adevilyoudo)

Raphael reclined in his chair, watching Tav from across the entranceway of the Last Light Inn. He crossed his legs, comfortably resting an arm on the table as he studied the creature; his eyes gleaming, gazing with focus. 

She was such an odd, clumsy little thing. Traipsing through the Sword Coast, narrowly surviving one fight, one obvious hazard after another. The foolish creature had nearly gotten herself killed by that True Soul Gut, somehow believing the Priestess would actually help with the parasite. 

He shouldn’t be surprised at the blatant stupidity, afterall a drowning mortal will clutch at a twig. If it wasn’t for Raphael, her corpse and his recent schemes would be rotting away in that cell. And all for naught. His blood seethed at the thought of being set back another century if this current ploy was foiled.

Tav had failed to acknowledge Raphael’s presence the entire evening as she conducted her dealings in the lodging, continuously stomping up and down the stairs with her ragtag companions following suit. He had purposely positioned himself in a perfect location, one where no one would miss him upon entering the Inn, or so he thought. He even proudly donned the new doublet, never leaving his House of Hope without it since Tav had it delivered to him. The little mouse could do with more perceptive eyes.

There was no need for Raphael’s mood to be soured due to Tav’s negligence. He was still quite content after his lanceboard victory against Mol. He had effortlessly presented that cheeky tiefling with her proposition, and now all he had to do was wait. It was a cushy contract and one that offered Raphael heaps of benefits. Mol was a cunning wee thing, and Raphael always needed ambitious creatures under his employment. It was a win for them both.

However, all of that was merely to pass the time. He did find pleasure in dipping into his past successes in the Shadow-Cursed Lands, but there was only so much reminiscing he could do in one evening before he bored himself to death. Raphael had mortals to skin, souls to collect; he needed to make better use of his time than sit there, waiting to be noticed. He was only present for that coy creature, and he will get an audience. Needs must when the devil drives…

Shouting unexpectedly came from the other room, pulling Raphael’s focus away from Tav. Shadowheart and Lae'zel were in some sort of disagreement; they were screaming down each other's throats, swords drawn, and on the verge of bloodshed. 

Raphael let out a dramatic sigh, he had no interest in their petty mortal qualms. He tilted his head, eyes returning to Tav. He took her in with a newfound satisfaction; captivated by the sudden air of authority she had over her companions as she jumped in between the bickering imbeciles in an attempt to quiet them. The creature did have her charms, whether Raphael liked to admit it or not.

Jaheira slammed a fist on her desk, lights flickering sporadically around the Inn. 

“Silence!” Her voice boomed through every room of the establishment, causing bottles and bookshelves to tremble. 

Harpers rose from their seats, drawing swords and readying bows at Jaheira’s change of temper. Raphael smirked, amused by the growing tension. He could hear each erratic heartbeat, smell the treacly scent of fear leaking from nearly every mortal within the vicinity. 

Jaheira scowled at the adventurers, eyeing each of the companions in turn as she spoke. 

“We do not fight amongst ourselves here. If you want to bicker like cubs then take it back to your camp. This will be your only warning.” 

Jaheira stared at Shadowheart and Lae'zel a moment longer before returning to the desk, continuing her work. 

Shadowheart and Lae'zel hissed like a pair of feral cats and stomped their separate ways. The vampire spawn, who always seemed to lurk about, just rolled his eyes, muttering something to himself before disappearing into the shadows.

Tav’s posture slumped as she watched her friends leave. Her face sagged, the brightness in her eyes fading. For the first time all evening she looked exhausted, no longer forced to wear the cracked facade she had built up around her companions. 

After a moment of silence, the tired creature shook her head and dragged herself to the bar. 

Raphael clapped his hands together, sparks flying from his fingertips. He had waited so long for this moment he thought it would never come, relieved he no longer had to make another visit to that squalid camp in order to speak with Tav. Despite his heart thundering in his chest, he rose gracefully from the seat, slowly pushing in the chair.

Raphael straightened his doublet, making sure it was flawless; no creases or wrinkles in sight, and sauntered his way towards the little mouse. 

The hour had grown late and most of the surrounding area towards the back of the Last Light Inn was vacant, leaving Raphael alone with Tav. Any Harpers still awake cleared out after the scuffle, some returning to their posts scattered around the Inn.

Tav poured herself some ale and took a massive sip. She groaned in frustration, refilling the tankard and plopping down on the nearest stool. Raphael followed her lead, filling up his own mug before slithering to the other side of the bar. 

Tav stared intensely into the tankard, as if searching for a greater meaning in the liquid. She was still covered in blood, her dainty hands caked in dirt and grime. Her clothes were torn and faded, far from the immaculate article of clothing she had gifted Raphael weeks prior. When was the last time she bathed? Did his little mouse have no ounce of dignity showing herself in such a manner outside of camp? Raphael made a note to himself to rectify this error if he was to continue with his antics. 

“On a night most foul, the weary traveller sought refuge, searching for answers hidden in plain sight…” Raphael projected his voice to Tav from across the counter, twirling his fingers along the edges of the mug.

Tav took a sip of ale as she glanced up in the direction of Raphael’s voice. She goggled in disbelief when she locked eyes with him. The creature choked, nearly coughing up the beverage. She haphazardly used her sleeve to wipe away the ale dripping from her nose and mouth, trying to save herself from the embarrassment. Worry not, little mouse, your self respect was lost long ago. 

“R-Raphael?!” 

Raphael tilted his head, bowing slightly. 

“If it isn’t my esteemed tadpoled friend. It’s so good to see you again and surprisingly still with your wits about you. How have you been managing as of late? By the ghastly state of your clothing, my guess is not very well.” 

Tav’s cheeks flushed, as if a fire had been lit underneath her. She hid behind her tankard, taking another massive drink of ale. 

“To be honest, this area is a bit more trouble than we expected… and you know, we’re a bit pressed for time with these, uh…” Tav pointed to her skull, wiggling her fingers in a cheap attempt at imitating the tadpoles. “Things, swimming around.”

“Very true. Time is of the essence, but that doesn’t mean we need to be reckless, my dear. On that note, I have been meaning to pick your brain, on a small matter…”

The creature opened her mouth as if to respond to Raphael, but he continued.  

“Did you really think the Priestess would remove your tadpole without consequence? Did I not warn you there is no cure outside of my assistance?”

Tav shrugged. She squeezed the tankard in between her hands, her knuckles turning white.  

“I was... just exploring my options and that Priestess was pretty damn convincing, just didn’t think she’d lock me up. I’m surprised Korrilla managed to find me in time.”

“I see, not even a thank you for my aid. It’s never too late, even for you, to learn a few manners.” 

Tav narrowed her eyes. Raphael grinned, raising his mug. He took a sip of ale and shuddered, a chill crawling up his spine. The ale somehow burned his infernal tongue, leaving an acidic taste in his mouth.

“Truly a horrid substance…” Raphael sputtered. 

He snapped his fingers, replacing the so-called ale with a finer, richer red wine. He took a sample of the new beverage to clean his palate, nodding to himself in approval.

”So, Korrilla…” Tav began.

“One moment please, if you would allow me… ”

Raphael snapped his fingers again and Tav’s tankard burst into flames. She jumped back, nearly falling off her stool. Moments later, the fire subsided, revealing a sparkling silver chalice in its wake. 

“Your theatrics will be the death of me, Raphael.” 

”I cannot sit here and willingly allow you to drink such filth in my presence. My apologies for the interruption, you may proceed.”

Tav gave Raphael a chiding stare and hesitantly picked up the chalice, smelling the wine. 

“I take offence you think I would stoop so low, even after you indulged in my sumptuous spread at the House of Hope. It is safe, I assure you.”

Tav tasted the wine, her posture straightening as soon as it touched her lips. She let herself relax, leaning her elbows on the bar.

“Fair enough… I still prefer the ale.”

Raphael scoffed, contemplating snapping the remaining ale out of existence to spite the little mouse. He made another mental note to track down the mortal who deemed that abominable ale acceptable.

“Anyways, as I was saying, if Korrilla has been sneaking around all this time, watching us… then why didn’t she help with that Giyanki ambush? We were nearly wiped out earlier.”

”She was preoccupied.”

“And what were you bloody doing? If you have such an interest in us, I’d expect some more participation, at least.”

“Why I was in this very Inn, catching up with friends old and new. If you merely learned to open your eyes, you would see my presence is everywhere. You had a Psionic Detector, did you not? That should’ve given you a sufficient amount of warning. I will not be able to watch you every waking hour, no matter the temptation.”

There was a pause, Tav avoided Raphael’s eyes as she continued with her drink. Raphael covertly twirled a finger, refilling Tav’s chalice so it always remained full, unbeknownst to the creature. 

Tav was starting to sway slightly, her eyes glazing over only just. She was frowning less the more she drank, that smile he enjoyed returning to her lips. 

“Besides, my auspicious friend, why charge gallantly into battle when you can be focusing on more meaningful pursuits?”

Tav laughed into her cup, taking another mouthful.

“You’re mad. What more could I possibly do when there’s a fight with bloody Ketheric Thorm waiting for us around the corner? And not to mention the fate of the entire world is at stake!”

Raphael considered her outburst for a moment, enjoying the little mouse unravelling before his eyes. 

“Perhaps I should have been more frank in our last conversation. My proposal still stands. I am itching for something new, something fresh…”

Raphael gestured towards the doublet by extending his arm and flicking his wrist. Tav rested her chin on her palm, squinting as she attempted to focus on Raphael. She continued to sway, side to side, dancing to a phantom tune. Her mouth fell open, eyes growing in size when she finally put two and two together.

“Oh gods! I didn’t realise you were still wearing it.”

“My dear, I would have you know I’ve done nothing but show off this doublet. You’ve caused quite the stir in my inner circles. I know a devil or two who might be keen on getting their claws on something similar.” And let them try, let them be jealous. Raphael would not allow it. The little mouse belonged to him, there would be no clothing like his in the Hells or on any other plane. 

“Ha! You want me to make clothes for your devil friends?” Tav’s laughter grew more rambunctious.

Raphael clenched his teeth and slowly inhaled. He interlaced his fingers on the countertop in hopes of keeping his composure. Conversing with drunkards was more tortuous than dealing with insipid children! Raphael loathed repeating himself, it was a waste of his breath and talent as a devil. The mortals were to blame if they were too daft to keep up with his terms, or failed to understand the meaning behind his bespoke rhymes. 

“No, my presumptuous little mouse. I want you to make clothes for me and only me. Permanently.”

“Oh, uh… wait, aren’t you supposed to offer me something in return?”

“I will make sure you are handsomely rewarded. There are some additional objectives that I will present to you and your companions in due time, but that is a separate matter.”

“Hmmm… right, right! You did ask me this before.” 

Tav stared at Raphael, burrows furrowed in thought. He returned her gaze, allowing himself to disappear into her eyes, loosening up as he drowned in those blue irises. His skin prickled in anticipation of her answer. He took a sip of wine, wetting his drying mouth. 

“Yea… y-you know what, it could be fun, why… the hell not!”

Tav reached towards her chalice but accidentally hit it, causing it to spill over the countertop. Her elbow slipped off the counter and she toppled backwards. 

Raphael snapped his fingers and instantly appeared behind Tav, catching her. She was lighter than a feather and landed softly in his arms. She started cackling, pointing towards the wine slowly dripping onto the floor.

“Oooops. R-really sorry for the mess. Rapha… Hey, you… you know, you’re really fast.” Tav’s eyes tried to focus on Raphael but instead were moving around the ceiling. The creature had been reduced to a babbling infant.

“Tut, tut, the little mouse cannot handle her drink. What are we to do?”

“It…one drink… was only one.”

Tav’s eyes fluttered, yet her giggling carried on. She tried to raise her head but it lolled sideways, causing those luscious brown curls to obstruct half of her face.

There was a faint twinkle in Raphael’s eyes as he stared at the creature so helpless in his arms, her intoxicated daze was a most welcoming sight indeed. He grinned. There was so much promise in this moment; so many things he wished he could do, places he yearned to whisk her away to… but that was for another time. He needed to gain her trust, solidify their relationship. 

"I've grown quite fond of you, in my way…” Raphael moved Tav’s hair out of her face, carefully tucking it behind her ear. “Perhaps too fond.”

“Mmm… Clothes, so nice… I, craft you… anything, always…” Her incoherent drivel faded before she melted into his arms, her body becoming limp.

Raphael observed the little mouse as he continued to caress her hair. She breathed slowly, blissfully unaware of the devil holding her in his fiery embrace, or the delicious deal she had just agreed to. Raphael pulled Tav closer, his fingers tingling as they held her.

He would sort the contract on the morrow and present it to the little mouse when she was of a clearer mind. He needed to see her face when she realised what she had done, when she understood what was truly expected of her. For now, let the creature sleep. She needed all the rest she could get for what awaited her in the coming days. 

Raphael huffed, it seemed he would be forced to revisit that decrepit camp after all. The creature will need to repay him for his kindness. He stood back from the bar, concentrating on an open space in front of him. A blistering portal materialised, flames crackling as it waited for him to step through. 

He approached the portal, pondering what sort of commission he would demand first.

[dragonsfell]

jaheira banter from bg2, part 3.

DO NOT REBLOG. Here's some conversations from Jaheira in Baldur's Gate 2; that I wanted to highlight. I owe the enhanced editions of the originals and play to plan again, but I wanted to share some some the interactions Jaheira had; to see where she came from // i wanted these saved on the blog // a warning that given the age of these games and the edition of D&D they spawn from; fantasy racism was at its height and everywhere and alignments were ever present & very black and white

With Sarevok ; a chaotic evil human deathbringer

Sarevok: What is that I smell? A burning rage? Hatred barely controlled? Jaheira, your eyes threaten to cut out my heart as I stand. Jaheira: Walk where you will. My fight with you is over. Sarevok: Is it? I had hoped my last bid for power would have had a more enduring impact. The memories of the victims are all that remain of it. Jaheira: You are nothing to me. You are a phantom, a shadow of an evil already faded. I will remember your defeat and nothing more. Sarevok: My... defeat. Of course, I understand. I am nothing because if I AM something, then you failed, didn't you? You worry that the avenged will not sleep if their tormentor has returned. Jaheira: Your existence is an insult to Gorion and every life you took, so I deny you, just as nature's grand cycle has denied you and spat you back upon the surface. Sarevok: Harsh words, nature's warrior. You cut to my soul raising questions of who or what I am, and I have no answer... But I can *live* with that. Jaheira: You *exist*; you do not *live*. You will miss the Great Mother's embrace in time. You are nothing.

there's a lot so the rest is under the read more. DO NOT REBLOG.

With Valygar ; a neutral good human stalker

Jaheira: You scan the horizon as a hawk, Valygar. Though with such an unnatural threat in your past, I cannot say I blame you. Valygar: Unnatural, yes. I struggle to understand the differences in magic that have been presented to me. How do you feel about it, Jaheira? Are they not all cut of the same vile shroud? Jaheira: Magic takes many forms, and only some dare circumvent the cycle of death. It is a power that draws from all things and need not be feared for simply being. Valygar: I suppose not, though there is ample to fear in those that wield it. - - - - - Jaheira: I find it surprising we have so little to say to one another, Valygar. Valygar: I have little to say to anyone, usually, and that is by my design. Jaheira: I understand. Still, we share much as druid and ranger. Valygar: Yes, we share misconceptions and stereotypes. You know as well as I that our outlooks differ fundamentally. Jaheira: Perhaps. As a druid, any encroachment of civilization on the wild places is a loss to be mourned. Valygar: I have seen communities destroyed because they did not fit the "balance" of a marsh or woodland. Jaheira: Destroyed? Valygar: "Encouraged" to relocate, but these are just different words for the same thing. Jaheira: I'm sure it was a dire circumstance. Valygar: Someone thought it was. Responsible use was apparently not an option. I bear you no ill will, Jaheira, but druidic "big-picture balance" can spawn very intimate hardships. Jaheira: Well, we shall have to agree to disagree. Valygar: As you see fit.

With Viconia ; a neutral evil drow cleric (here's that 90s fantasy racism)

Viconia: Tell me, Harper, who was who with your parentage? Father the darthiir, mother the rivvil? Or father human, mother elven? It's always confusing with crossbred mongrels. Jaheira: Two people in love, swine. A rain not likely to soak your parade of scabbed obscenity anytime soon. - - - - - Jaheira: Avert your eyes, dark elf! I'll not have you taint the beauty of the wood with your poison gaze. Viconia: Would you deny me even the sight of the trees, Jaheira? I can appreciate the strength of the oaks even though I would never live amongst them. Jaheira: I am not to be swayed by your words, creature. I know too much of you and your kind. Viconia: Ooo, such delicious fire, though better it was turned on an enemy. I would be your ally, Jaheira; your strength might even bring you respect among my kind. Jaheira: Lies. Such respect would grant me naught but a bigger tombstone, or a nameless grave in a slightly nicer tunnel. Viconia: Granted, you might not live to make that favorable impression, but I still say it is so. Take that as you will.

With Yoshimo ; a neutral human bounty hunter

Jaheira: You need not turn your eyes to me each time I drop my head, Yoshimo. I am well and fine. Yoshimo: If that is so, then I am glad. I am eager to please if you should want for anything. Jaheira: I am sure, but I will keep my thoughts to myself in this case Yoshimo: Ahh, memories of the fallen are the sweetest, are they not? I will intrude no more. Jaheira: Er, yes, whatever you wish.

[immobiliter]

what chess piece represents you?

the white bishop.

You are a White Bishop. There is something you believe in, be it an oath, a phrase, a promise. It's what keeps the bishop on the diagonal path it takes on the board. You live by this creed and infect others with it. You are empathetic, able to feel others' pain like it's your own, and offer advice or help to them. But be careful, because every bleeding heart runs out of blood eventually. Every leader crumbles to the next generation eventually.

tagged by: @anquenin <3 tagging: @spiderwarden, @infernaliscor & anyone else who would like to do this!

[brain-rot-central]

Sonnet of the Lone Cardinal, Ch. 3

A/N: Thank you all for your patience. She's finally here.

Word count: 3.5k Rating: M (nothing sexual; mostly topics that may be uncomfortable) Pairing: Ascended Astarion/Fem!Tav Warnings: 18+; Mentions of murder, violence, death, blood, gore (very minor), blood drinking, sexual acts. Angst, alcohol consumption.

Summary: Tav and Shadowheart finally reunite for a simple lunch date. Their discussion turns toward Astarion, and a particularly unsettling event.

Chapter track: Cry - Cigarettes After Sex

♥ Previous Chapter ♥ Next Chapter ♥ Link to Ao3

Dawn breaks over the horizon. The subtle stirrings of a city coming to life once more fill the streets. Maids and matrons pat down their mats just beyond their front doors. Street vendors begin setting up their carts. A young boy with a satchel carrying copies of the Gazette goes from home to home delivering the day’s latest print.

Tav kneels before her front window, watching the street below. A few days have passed since her meeting with Jaheira. Astarion hasn't been to see her; the longest stretch of time between visits since they began their ordeal. She fully expected a visit last night. However, he never came. She hates admitting it to herself, but she feels a shallow pit in her stomach beginning to form having gone without him for so long.

Standing up, Tav closes the window and brings herself into the washroom to prepare for the day ahead. An old friend has requested a lunch date; she hasn’t seen Shadowheart for many months, and owes her dearest friend an audience.

Tav pours the carafe of water into the wash basin, dipping a cloth into the water before bringing it to her face. Studying the various soaps and creams she has lined along the shelf, she chooses one of nettlebark, smelling of citrus and pine forests. This scent is one of her favorites, and she’s relieved she can still find comfort within the smell. Scents are still a trigger for her nausea at this stage in her pregnancy. The usually tempting smell of breakfast wafting about the air of the city turns her stomach upright, now. Tav has found that if she holds off eating until mid-morning, she's in the clear. 

Yet… odd cravings have begun. 

For instance, she's since gone back to the butcher's, profusely apologetic to poor Gideon. Of course, the kind soul that he is, he was nothing but understanding and even offered her a few rations free of charge. Tav politely declined his offer, yet as she stared into the display cases full of various raw meats, she found herself practically bewitched by the sight. Rich, bloody beef; cut straight from the animal. She recalls how intensely saliva pooled within her mouth staring at the provisions. Tasting the metallic twang of the blood on her tongue, swallowing thickly as Gideon returned with her order.

Patting her face dry with a small towel, Tav returns into the main room and begins rummaging through her dresser for the day's outfit. The midnight blue bottle Jaheira gave her sits atop the dresser. Tav considers the potion every morning, but quickly declines as her heart aches at the thought. 

She believes the weather to be rather warm today, so she settles on an airy, light blue sundress and a wide brimmed hat. The gray scarf she recently bought matches perfectly as she stands before her mirror, assembling the ensemble. 

The ghost of scars catches her eyes as she adjusts the scarf around her neck. They're light enough; most wouldn't notice, though to her, they blare. Permanent gifts from her months-long affair with Astarion during their journey to defeat the Absolute. His bite was always a clean one, never marring her tanned skin. Two faint fang marks are all that remain, Tav taking the index and middle fingers of one hand to press lightly over the imprinted flesh as she lifts her chin.

Lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub.

The rhythmic beating of her heart can be felt beneath her fingertips as she pushes slightly into the artery. Accurate, Tav notes, a shiver running down her spine. She makes quick adjustments to the scarf and grabs her hat off the edge of her bed, placing it atop her head. 

Returning to the mirror, Tav smiles approvingly at her reflection as she gives herself a final glance over. The dress is loose enough that it hides the new softness of her body, something she's thankful for. Curiously, she places her hands over her stomach, pushing the fabric of the dress down and under the small swell of her lower abdomen. A pleased laugh escapes her lips while admiring the sight.

Tav turns her body from side to side, tracing the movement with her eyes. Her breasts now fill the top of the garment. The deep plunge of the dress’s neckline displays her new cleavage in a flattering manner. Feeling suddenly bare, Tav unwraps the scarf from around her neck, repositioning it lays across her chest like a bandana. Better. A bit more modest.

The satisfaction doesn’t last very long as she thinks of Shadowheart. How can she tell her? Will she tell her? While Shadowheart has never been anything but supportive, Tav worries how she may respond to news of her pregnancy. Tav is not ready for the backlash and potential lecture her best friend would give her, hearing Shadowheart's scolding voice echo within her mind. 

You cried over him for months! Tav envisions clearly, sour facial expressions and all. How many times did you come to me distraught in the middle of the night? Only to end up like this?

If the conversation doesn’t occur naturally, Tav decides on not discussing it. Not yet.

Swallowing past the sudden lump in her throat, Tav grabs her satchel from behind her main door, throwing it over her shoulder and across her chest. She inspects the contents quickly to ensure everything is present. Slipping her feet into brown sandals, she makes her way down the stairs to face the day ahead.

----------------------------------------------------

The morning is spent strolling around the park not far from her apartment. Tav recalls an altercation with Bhaal’s followers in this very park so many months ago. Today though, people are enjoying the sun and the company of one another. Lovers lay out on the grass, hands interlaced as they speak freely of their devotion to one another. A book club gathers in the middle of the park to discuss their latest obsession. Tav overhears bits and pieces of mixed conversations, finding comfort in the fact that life is slowly returning to normal for the citizens of Baldur's Gate.

The midmorning quickly slips into afternoon, and Tav begins her trek over toward the Elfsong to meet with Shadowheart. A few people nod in recognition as she passes by. “That's our hero!” they shout. “The savior of the city!” Tav smiles and bows graciously toward them, never quite comfortable with everyone suddenly knowing of her existence. Still, she is thankful for their praise and support.

Upon entering the Elfsong, Tav scans the tavern and quickly finds Shadowheart seated at a booth along the wall. Their eyes meet, Shadowheart waving her over with a warm smile on her face. “There you are!” she exclaims as Tav draws closer. “My goodness, I feel as if it's been ages!” The two women exchange a quick embrace, planting chaste kisses upon eachother's cheek.

“Good to see you again, Shadowheart,” Tav says as she settles into the booth. She removes her hat and scarf, placing both items on the cushion to her left.

Shadowheart soon joins her, taking a sip from her glass of wine. “Shall I ask for another glass?” she proposes, nodding to hers. “We could just order a bottle,” she quickly adds with a smirk.

“Oh, no, I'm quite fine,” Tav declines, a sharp twist in her abdomen forms at the thought. “Truth be told, I haven't had the best stomach, as of late.” Bile begins to rise in the back of her throat as a quick wave of nausea passes over her. She quickly swallows it back down.

Taking another sip from her glass, Shadowheart cocks her head to the side. “Truly? Why haven't you been to see me yet?”

“Not to worry,” waving a hand in reassurance. “I've been to a healer. All is well,” Tav replies with a liar’s smile.

All is not well. None of this is well.

Fortunately, Shadowheart takes the bait and quickly switches subjects. Waiting for service, they begin a pleasant conversation about resettling back into their lives. They speak of their new jobs and all other mundane activities of day-to-day life, sharing a few laughs between remarks as they pursue the menus in front of them.

The waitress takes their orders – Shadowheart keeps it light, ordering salad with grilled chicken; Tav orders a rare steak with potatoes and a side of vegetables. “Rare?” Shadowheart comments as soon as the waitress is out of earshot. “You hate all meat, unless it’s well done.”

She's right. Any hint of pink in Tav’s portion would go right back into the fire. “I-I've been trying new things lately,” Tav explains, rubbing her neck coyly. The cravings only seem to grow as the days pass, and she briefly wonders if it's a consequence of having a half-vampiric pregnancy.

Shadowheart raises a brow again, but fortunately does not pry further. The women then delve into a discussion regarding their old companions as they wait for their meals. Tav talks of her efforts to bolster the city watch with Wyll, now the Duke after his father's unfortunate death. Shadowheart speaks of Gale, who she notes has since opened a school of wizardry back in Waterdeep. Neither has heard much regarding the others, though they agree that they're most likely doing well.

Shadowheart wastes little time once their meals arrive, forking salad into her mouth. “So, have you heard from Astarion at all?” she asks casually after swallowing.

A shudder passes over Tav as she begins slicing into her steak. “No,” she feigns with eyes cast downward, “I-I have not.”

Gesturing toward Tav with her fork as she chews, Shadowheart swallows. “I read something interesting in the Gazette a few days ago,” she suggests.

“About him?” Tav questions, bringing a potato wedge to her mouth.

Shadowheart shakes her head in disapproval around a sip of wine. “Not in particular,” she clarifies. “They don't name him explicitly, though it made me think of him.”

Silence befalls the table as Tav awaits her companion to continue. She doesn't trust her voice enough at this point to offer more to their conversation now that Astarion is the topic at hand. Playing idly with the vegetables on her plate, she chooses a small piece of broccoli to bring up to her mouth. The heavy pull of dread is beginning to creep in, her chest tightening.

“They… mentioned an incident that occurred in the sewers but a tenday ago,” explains Shadowheart, a sour expression befitting her face. “Some sort of deal gone wrong.”

Tav looks up to meet Shadowheart's gaze, puzzled. “How exactly does that involve him?” she inquires.

“Well, that's just the thing,” Shadowheart continues, “those first on the scene mentioned five victims in total, all young males.” She interrupts herself to feed another forkful of salad into her mouth, swallowing before resuming, “They were all reported as being exsanguinated, though only three had their throats slashed.”

Tav swallows hard around another piece of steak, silently savoring the rare flavor washing over her tongue as she focuses her attention on Shadowheart. “And the other two?”

Shadowheart looks sheepishly around the bar, discomfort evident. She dips her head. “Tav, I know of your history with Astarion. I don't wish to speak ill of him out of respect for you.”

Tav's fist tightens around the knife in her left hand. The tightness in her chest has traveled up to her throat. Her heart pounds rapidly as she drinks from the glass of water within her right hand. “What of the others?” Tav insists, placing the glass back down on the table with force.

Eyes falling closed, Shadowheart sighs heavily. “The other two…” she begins, voice trailing off. She pulls in a deep breath. “Well, they're reported as having two pin marks on their necks.” She gestures to Tav's throat with a soft nod of her head. “...Not unlike the scars you bear.”

A prickling heat spreads across Tav’s face. A tenday ago? she speaks within her mind. Rather close to when she'd last seen Astarion. Tav recalls again how miffed he'd been that night; impatient and direct, wasting little time coaxing her down onto the bed.

She pushes around a chunk of potato on her plate, anxiety mounting. “What makes you think it was Astarion? It could have been a kobold, or a spider, or-”

“They were gone the next day,” interrupts Shadowheart, bluntly.

Tav’s heart nearly freezes. She locks eyes with Shadowheart. “Gone? What do you mean gone?” she asks frantically, furrowing her brow.

“Gone,” Shadowheart reiterates, raising the wine glass to her lips again. “When the investigators returned the following day alongside the medical examiner, only the three with the knife wounds remained.” She pulls a long drink from the glass. “The other two were nowhere to be found. As if they'd simply gotten up and walked away.”

Tav shivers, entire body twitching with the thought. “T-that doesn't mean it's Astarion, Shadowheart. It could be-”

“Could be what? Another vampire?” suggests Shadowheart, sarcastically. “I don't think Astarion would take kindly to someone else moving into his territory.” She sighs, clicking her tongue. “I'm sorry to say it, Tav, but it sounds an awful lot like him.”

The sounds of the tavern flood Tav’s ears. Her vision narrows to a single pinpoint, the edges of her vision growing fuzzy. She leans back in her seat and closes her eyes. “We don't know that,” Tav states, trying desperately to calm the wild beating of her heart. “We don't know what happened.” She shakes her head, slowly opening her eyes. “We won't know until the case is settled.”

“Why do you still defend him?” asks Shadowheart bluntly, mouth pulling into a displeased pout. “Surely you remember how badly he hurt you. Why continue to defend him at all?”

The question echoes in her mind. Why does she defend him? The man is a monster; an abomination, as Jaheira had called his child. Tav knows not who he’s become. Small glimpses of the man he once was shine through now and again, mostly when they argue. The stubborn selfishness of him reveals itself, inevitably bleeding into raw passion once she works at him enough. It almost makes her feel at home in his arms, albeit for a few hours.

“He wouldn't, Shadowheart. It's not like him…” Tav says, quietly. She's unsure if she believes it or if she's lying in an effort to convince herself that it's true. She's suddenly lost her appetite, pushing the plate of food away from her.

Shadowheart is quiet for some time, eyes cast down at the table. “Well,” she says, cutting through the silence, “let's hope he's as innocent as you say.”

Silence stretches across the table before the two women agree to shift the conversation elsewhere. They inevitably tie up their gathering, sharing an embrace and chaste kisses to the cheeks once again. They vow to meet the following week, and head out on their way.

Walking back toward her apartment, Tav's stomach begins to sour as she thinks over her conversation with Shadowheart. Vivid images of Astarion sinking his fangs into the necks of the alleged victims flood her mind's eye. She feels a tingling sensation over her own scars as she imagined how they must have felt. Could he have really done such a thing? The sounds of the city are almost absent from her ears as she ponders the question.

“Wait a minute,” she speaks aloud, freezing in place. Her eyes are cast down to the cobblestone street below as her heart fills with horror. Her mouth dries quickly, choking as she tries to breathe.

The last night she'd seen Astarion coincides almost exactly with the timeline of the murders within the sewers. If the report is true, then Astarion's enthusiasm that night wasn't solely due to want, necessarily. Tav dips into a small alley between two buildings, leaning against the brick wall as her knees grow weak.

No, his insistence was not due to missing her. It was attributed to blood-fueled lust, a state Tav has seen him in a number of times. She clasps a hand over her mouth as a sob suddenly racks her chest. Her whole body shakes as the horrific realization sinks deep into her bones. The puzzle aligns near perfectly as the thought continues to blossom.

Astarion had come to her bed after draining two people dry. He didn't spend time on their typical foreplay because he couldn't. Tav knows the power mortal blood has over him, and she doubts the ascension has changed that. She recalls how it all but possesses his thoughts, his feelings, and his body, enslaved by the sheer power of unbridled desire running through him.

Lurching forward, she begins to dry heave; a million thoughts race across her mind. He couldn't have done this on purpose, could he? He wouldn't. There's simply no way he would. Denial clouds her thoughts as saliva drips freely from her open mouth, gathering it together to spit upon the floor. Holding a hand to her stomach she rises, leaning her temple against the cool brick of the wall next to her. She closes her eyes, trying to calm her excitement with slow, deep breaths.

“No innocents; you have my word.”

Astarion's past promise to her rings loudly in her ears. It was from this promise their almost nightly affair to keep him well-fed began. Tav tries desperately to block out the memories of what would transpire after their sessions; how could she have not noticed? All the signs were there.

Because he didn't drink from me.

Her stomach churns again and she rubs her hand in a circular motion above her navel. Her chest burns as she chokes back tears. What to do, now? Does she wait until his next visit to confront him? When will that be? The anticipation will burn a hole through her soul, she knows. But, what other option does she have? 

A small voice wrestles from within as she wipes her mouth with the back of a hand.

…Do I go to him?

The decision is made before the logical side of her mind can argue a rational point, her feet carrying her toward the Crimson Palace. She second guesses the choice; from some place within, a voice yells for her to reconsider. 

He'll tell me the truth, surely, she argues against her doubt. 

Right?

Aware that she's potentially putting herself in a grave position, Tav cannot rest until he tells her otherwise. She needs to hear from Astarion's own mouth that he didn't murder five people only to share her bed mere hours later. She needs to hear from him that he wouldn't do this, that he still abides by his promise to her, that her blood is all he's ever known.

“Why do I care so much?” Tav questions aloud to herself, practically running now toward the monastery. She shakes her head in an attempt to clear her thoughts; he will eventually drink the blood of others. If he is to create an army of spawn as he'd so claimed after the ritual, that would be the only way to do so.

They're no longer lovers; no longer deeply acquainted. They just sleep together, and she fell pregnant as a result. 

Why does she care so much?

Before long, Tav stands before the immaculate palace. Grand mahogany doors stand proudly at the building's entrance, adorned with intricate carvings along the wood. Black metal knockers depicting the faces of gargoyles signal a way in. Tav’s hand reaches instinctively around the bell of one, pulling up.

Before she can complete the knock, the door creaks open. A faint glow from a distant light source cracks through the opening of the door and Tav releases the handle, stepping back. She freezes in place, fully expecting the door to continue opening. Yet, it halts, remaining only slightly ajar. Stale air greets her nostrils and a shiver passes through her.

Silence suddenly engulfs her, the sounds of the city falling dormant. As she surveys the area around her, Tav notes no other presence out on the street for as far as the eye can see. Her ears pick up the soft sound of someone humming, and she determines its origin lies within the palace. 

An assimon carved into the middle of the marble trim along the heavy doors catches her attention as she looks up. Tav turns her head as she studies the figure; a young woman with long hair, eyes closed and wings outstretched as she holds a lance within one hand.

The humming from within the building turns into a tune and cuts through Tav’s daydream. She shakes her head briefly, regrouping. She can turn away now and forget this entire thing. Forget that this was even a thought that crossed her mind, leave, and no one would ever know she was here.

A quick flash of Astarion’s fangs piercing into skin flits across Tav’s vision. She winces. I simply must know, she reassures herself. Drawing in a deep breath, she steps forward.

Resting the flat of her palm against the door, Tav slowly pushes it open. The old metal and wood fuss loudly as the door gives way under the force of her hand. The faint glow of the light from within now pours out, illuminating the street behind her. With some hesitation, Tav steps over the threshold, disappearing into the palace.