#|| ...just as he wanted to keep the Bhaalspawn alive and on his side.

[little-tyrant-gortash]

You should kill them before they end up killing you. Be careful Gortash

"They are my ally. I will not kill them. And while your concern for my well-being is appreciated, I do not require it. With this in mind. Get out."

[antiqua-lugar]

Tumblr refuses to let me reblog a post referencing Wyll saying that as a child his father told him that their dead love ones were always watching over them and Wyll's reaction was to be scared. He thought he was haunted.

The idea of Wyll being genuinely scared of wide-eyed ghosts in response to what probably was his father's attempt to console him over his mother's death is. His loved ones not as a consolation but as a reminder, as an audience - possibly as someone judging him, because ghosts cannot move on until their unfinished business is resolved. Especially because his mother also haunts the narrative, in her own way? She's first defined by her absence, Wyll doesn't talk or think of her much because she died giving birth of him. Except he reveals that he has been thinking of her recently, specifically contrasting her to his father. He's been thinking about how his life could have been different had she been there. Wyll is always very adamant that he doesn't regret anything, he can't, because it means regretting all the good he has done and all the lives he has saved. Is his mother's death one of the things he is not supposed to regret, because had she been alive then none of this would have happened and he would still have been in Baldur's Gate with his family, not a hero but happy and whole...but then dozens of people would have been dead and dozens of devils would still be living? Are his good deeds, like his dead loved ones, haunting him? Especially since he keeps contrasting his father and mother, public vs private, duty vs personal happiness, throught the whole of Act 3, culminating with his romance scene in Act 3, where his mother's memory is directly tied to his proposal. I know some people said the writers just straight up forgot he never met her, but I just assumed he is simply recalling what his father used to say abut her, just like he always repeats his father words, which instead are curiously absent from the whole thing. We are never told why his father never married his mother while Wyll will marry the person he loves no matter who that person is - Bhaalspawn, vampire spawn , Great Liberator of the Githyanki people, former Sharran with a degree in torture and interrogation - and it would have been so easy to bring his fathers' words in his romance, to say anything at all about duty, but no, only his mother's words matter in his romance. I know this probably IS a result of the rewrite, but the complete absence of his father in favour of his mother in his romance arc, which is the ONE arc that is entirely all about Wyll's personal desires? Like The Blade of Frontier is a hero from the legends, Wyll Ravengard is someone who wants to be in a romance. It's perhaps his only indulgence, to have a love story as he wishes. On some level he compares it to his childhood dreams, and he says it's his greatest wish, as if the idea of the person he loves staying at his side forever cannot possibly be something he actually gets to keep. And not only then he does, but his romance scene only triggers after Ansur after he (in his good ending) has just refused his father and the world of politics to remain the Blade The themes in his arc. don't get me started on mizora being a dark mirror version of his mother

[baldursgrave69]

A Sight For Sore Eyes

Summary: Agnes (the Dark Urge) can’t get her meeting with Enver Gortash out of her head. The way he spoke to her with such familiarity is eating at her. She decides to pay the archduke a visit. Maybe he can tell her who she was? Who they were?

Pairing: Gortash x fem!durge (named) and Astarion x fem!durge (named)

Word count: 3.7K

Tags: bhaalspawn typical mentions of violence, murder, angst, fluff

While writing this I was listening to: Vienna by The Fray

Find me on Ao3 here

Agnes stood with her back against the cool stone facade of Wyrm’s Rock Fortress, hiding in the shadows. She adjusted the cloak covering her head as she listened to the clinking of the Steel Watcher’s on duty. The big metal watcher closest to her walked away from where she stood, and she took the opportunity to slip out of the shadows and over to the door leading to Enver Gortash’s office. With a quick motion, she unlocked the door and slipped inside, once again concealing herself with shadow. As she looked around the large office hall, she noticed several Baneite guards scattered about the room, none of which noticed her stealthily slip in. Was the archduke a bit paranoid, perhaps? Either way, these guards would prove to be a hindrance. Agnes surveyed the room, finding a perfect path of shadows along the outskirts of the large hall. With a smirk, she made her way along the shadowed path, keeping a watchful eye on Gortash’s guards. As she made her way to the back of the room, she saw him. Enver Gortash, sat at his desk, rifling through some papers. Her breath hitched as she laid eyes on him again, the same feeling from before in her stomach. Seeing him in the audience hall earlier that day left her feeling confused. Though she had never laid eyes on this man, he felt sickeningly familiar. His gaze was almost comforting, his voice eliciting a sense of calm. Her ruined brain recognized the man. 

Agnes surveyed the area around the man’s desk, realizing that her shadowy path could lead her right to the side of it, and out of the view of his guards. With a smirk, she made her way through the shadows, carefully passing by the oblivious Baneites who were meant to protect their Chosen. As she approached the desk, Agnes laid a hand to her dagger. Her knife hand began to ache as she watched the arch duke lost in thought, his golden gauntlet tapping against the desk. The Urge within was boiling, aching to come out and eviscerate this man. Visions of his blood running through her fingers made the bhaalspawn dizzy. Agnes took a deep breath, willing the Urge to subside. She needed him alive, he had answers she wanted, she just knew it. With careful precision, she appeared from the shadows, bringing her dagger to the man’s neck. She felt him tense up and begin to say something, but she pressed the daggers flat end harder into his throat, ceasing any words from spilling out.

“Shh,” she whispered, bringing her other hand to rest on the man’s shoulder. She felt him immediately relax under her touch, seeing a smile spread across the side of his face that was visible to her. “Get rid of them,” she whispered into his ear, before removing her dagger and slinking back into the shadows. Gortash looked around, trying to lay eyes on her to no avail. Agnes watched the beaming smirk on his face as he stood from his desk, walking over to his guards. “Out,” he said, waving his hand dismissively at the three guards posted around the room. They looked at him with confusion, but immediately followed his orders. “We’ll be outside if you need us, my lord,” one of the men said with a bow of his head. Gortash nodded, watching the guards exit the room swiftly. Once the room was empty, he turned towards the shadows where Agnes had disappeared to. He surveyed the room, though he couldn’t find the bhaalspawn. 

“That was too easy,” Agnes said, walking up behind the man from the other side of the room. She toyed with the dull edge of her blade as Gortash turned to look at her. “No, you’re just that good. Besides, I trust you won’t hurt me, not yet anyway,” Gortash said with a smirk, crossing his arms. The man looked her up and down, taking a step closer. Agnes removed the hood of her cloak, revealing her face. “Gods, you’re a sight for sore eyes,” he said, watching her carefully as she spun the dagger in her hands. With a quick motion she sheathed it at her side, looking up at the man. “I have… some questions. As you know, my memory is completely gone. I don’t know anything about myself,” she began, looking down at her hands. “I feel like you know me. But I don’t know how.” As she finished talking, she looked up to see Gortash’s steely gaze on her, a grin on his face. “I see,” he said, gesturing towards the big oak desk he had been sitting at. Suddenly, Agnes was hit with a brief memory. 

She was sat on the desk, Enver Gortash running his hands along her body. 

 Agnes eyed him cautiously, but made her way over to the desk and sat down in a chair opposite his. “You’d be right to assume that we know each other well. Knew each other well,” he corrected as he sat across from her. “As I said, we planned everything together. We spent most of our days working to bring our brilliant plan to fruition. You and I travelled to the Hells and stole the crown from Mephistopheles vault. We partnered with Ketheric Thorm to build an army,” as Gortash spoke, Agnes could see his confident demeanor wavering. The tyrant seemed… sad. “So we were partners?” Agnes asked, her hands folded in front of her on the desk. “One could say that,” Gortash said with a nod, his hand sliding across the desk closer to hers. “Is that all?” Agnes asked, her fingers twitching towards his. Gortash wavered for a moment and then stood up, walking over to his bookshelf to retrieve a bound journal, stuffed almost to the point of breaking with papers. He rifled through the pages for a moment, settling on a tattered and torn piece of paper. He handed it to her, sitting back down. Agnes grabbed the piece of paper, unfolding it to see a drawing of Enver Gortash. The drawing showed Gortash sitting at his desk shirtless with a map in his hands. She felt her face turn red, noticing small hearts dappled around the page. She knew immediately that she was the artist of this drawing. She had done many such sketches of Astarion and Halsin. In small writing at the bottom of the page read: -From your favorite assassin. Agnes took a moment to breathe. She had a feeling that she had an intimate relationship with Gortash, her ruined brain and body recognized him in ways that she had had a hard time pinpointing until now. But this felt like more than a fling. The care and detail that went into the drawing Gortash had handed her made her feel like it was more than physical. Agnes looked up at him. He had his hands folded in front of him as he watched her study the sketch. As she looked at him, a memory flooded into her mind. 

Agnes pressed up against Gortash as he gently kissed her neck. They were in a closet of some kind, cramped between shelves and brooms. Gortash leaned down to Agnes’ ear and whispered to her, “I love you.”

“Some memories keep coming back to me,” Agnes broke the silence, looking at Gortash. “They’re just flashes but they always involve you. I really cared for you, didn’t I?” Gortash sighed, letting his head hang. “And I for you,” he replied, looking up at her to notice her hand had found its way closer to his again. He moved his forward so that his index finger grazed hers, the feeling of her touch almost electric. Agnes paused for a moment before asking her next question. “Did she tell you what she did to me?”. Gortash stopped for a moment, looking down at the desk. “Yes,” he began, Agnes could perceive a slight shake in his voice. “She appeared at Moonrise pretending to be me. ‘I’ asked you to join me in the colony below the towers, though in reality I was in the city still,” Agnes could tell that recalling the memory was difficult for him. “She brought you down there still acting as me, made you think I was trying to take advantage of you. Then she forced you to drink a paralytic.” Agnes entwined her fingers with his as he explained what Orin had done to her. Gortash closed his eyes, flashes of the changeling waltzing around his room covered in Agnes’ blood flashing through his mind. “I had been waiting for you here. You were supposed to come to me that night, I waited for hours. Then ‘you’ walked through the door,” Gortash recounted Orin pretending to be Agnes, walking into his room after she had destroyed her. “She was covered in bits of you. Blood, viscera, it was awful. I just knew something was wrong. You always insisted on keeping the gore out of here.” Agnes felt an ache in the pit of her stomach. She felt for Enver Gortash. She didn’t remember him or what they had together, but he remembered her so vividly. His pain was visible, he had mourned someone he loved when she went missing. 

“Why did she do this to me?” Agnes asked. Gortash squeezed her hand, his thumb rubbing circles on hers. “You were Bhaal’s Chosen. The favorite, the golden child. As the leader of his cult, you had endless amounts of power and influence. And with Ketheric and I by your side, you were nearly unstoppable,” Agnes felt so disconnected from the person he was talking about. She tried her best to remember anything, to remember him. His touch felt familiar, his voice, down to his scent. Vanilla and rosewood. “She felt that you were too… distracted. Not focusing on the task at hand.” Gortash continued. “Distracted by you,” Agnes filled in. Gortash nodded. “We tried to hide it, at first. The Chosen of opposing gods being together isn’t exactly a recipe for a happy ending. We spent a lot of time writing letters, hiding in broom closets, sneaking around Moonrise,” Gortash took his hand from Agnes, grabbing the journal he had gotten the sketch from and handing it to her. Agnes opened it, rifling through the pages. It was filled with letters between the two, detailing their relationship. Correspondence between business partners, at first. But as she read through them, the writing became more familiar. The use of honorifics faded and pet names took their place.The notes felt like they were written by lovesick teenagers, not the Chosen of the gods of murder and tyranny. Agnes felt a lump in her throat, seeing her handwriting but not remembering writing the words. She was watching herself fall in love on paper, her heart ached for someone she didn’t even know. Gortash watched as she ran her fingers over the letters, her expression knit in concentration. She furrowed her brow as she looked up at him. “I was going to kill you,” she said plainly. “Yes,” Gortash nodded. “Those Urges you feel aren’t new. You dealt with them then, probably more intensely than you do now. I woke up many nights with a dagger to my throat,” he said. “If you knew, why did we still… it would’ve been so much safer for you to just cast me out.” Agnes didn’t understand why someone in Enver Gortash’s position would keep such a liability around. “I knew that this would end badly. Your father tired of the distraction I caused, he ordered you to end me. And you agreed. You told him you would bring me to the temple and kill me there, following by ending your own life. The ultimate offering to Bhaal,”

“You continued to let me live, telling your father you were spending time with me to gain my trust so that you may kill me. If Orin hadn’t gotten to you first, he would have.” Agnes understood. Bhaal would have taken over her body and forced her to slay Enver Gortash. “But that doesn’t explain why you continued to spend time with me,” Agnes studied Gortash’s face. She knew he had loved her, but she wanted to hear him say it. “I loved you. I didn’t care what happened to me, as long as I was with you.” Agnes let her head hang. She didn’t know how to feel with this new information. Seeing herself fall in love through letters but not remembering any of it was devastating. He moved his hand to cup her jaw, lifting it so she would look at him. “I have missed you,” he said quietly, looking down at her with a slight smile. His expression dropped as he moved her head to the side, examining the deep scars etched into her face. “What happened?” He asked, tracing a finger along the deep marks on her chin. “It wasn’t always this way?” Agnes asked, watching Gortash’s expression grow cold. “Certainly not,” he said, releasing her face from his grasp. “That fucking shapeshifter,” Agnes grumbled, a hand coming up to trace the lines now carved into her face. 

“I cannot wait for you to end her, once and for all,” Gortash said, grabbing Agnes’ hand in his. “Nor can I. She ruined me. Ruined my brain, ruined my face,” Agnes could feel anger welling inside at the thought of her sister and what she had done. Gortash lifted her chin to look at him once again, tracing his thumb along her bottom lip. “You’re brilliant and beautiful as ever, she could never take that from you,” Agnes looked up at the man, her eyes trailing to his lips. Gortash pulled her across the desk towards him, pressing his lips to hers. Agnes felt a stir in her as her lips met the tyrants. Everything about him felt more familiar than her own reflection. His taste, the way his hand caressed her cheek, the tickle of his stubble on her face. Gortash pulled away, standing from the desk and walking over to her. He knelt before her, taking her head in his hands. “I never thought I’d see you again,” he whispered, pressing his lips back to hers. He kissed her as if he had been starving and the only thing that could sate him was her. His hands trailed her body, feeling every inch as if trying to memorize her. Agnes allowed her own hands to wander, one snaking its way into his hair, the other trailing along his shoulder and down his arm. She could feel the man tremble under her touch, letting out a sigh as he continued to feel her. Gortash pulled away from her, leaning his forehead to hers. “Do you remember me?” He asked, his eyes silently pleading with her. Agnes dropped her eyes, a hand caressing his cheek. “No,” she whispered. Gortash pressed his lips to hers once more, kissing her passionately as if trying to pull the memory of him out of her. 

Agnes brought her hand from his hair to the back of his neck, meeting the other there. She began to feel an ache in her hands that was all too familiar. The Urge within craving to wrap those hands around the man’s neck and squeeze until he went limp. She tried to ignore the feeling as Gortash’s tongue slipped into her mouth. Her tongue danced with his, it surprised her how gentle he wasn’t. Agnes tried fighting the swimming headache, but she couldn’t get the image of Enver Gortash limp in her hands out of her head. The bhaalspawn pulled away, moving her hands away from his throat. The man looked up at her, watching her expression cautiously. “It’s the Urge, isn’t it,” he said, pulling away from her. Agnes took a deep breath, trying to blink away the visions of Enver Gortash’s dead body. “I can make you some tea, it always helped with the nausea,” he said, watching her closely. Agnes looked up at him, noticing a twist of concern on his face. The same concern she often saw on Astarion’s face when the Urge’s got ahold of her. “Astarion,” Agnes said with a gasp, her hand tracing her swollen lips. What was she doing here? She had just done something that was surely unforgivable. Agnes felt her heart drop, a pit forming in her stomach. “It’s the elf, isn’t it? The one from the audience hall,” Gortash said, pulling away from Agnes. “Gods, what am I doing? I have to go,” Agnes swiftly stood, pulling her cloak up and fastening the front of it. “I was never here, do you understand?” Agnes barked at the man, her eyes darting for the exit. “Right,” Gortash said rubbing his temples. Agnes looked towards the door and back at Gortash. He nodded, heading towards the door to allow his guards back in. As the Baneite guards reentered the room, Agnes slipped out swiftly, following her safe, shadowy path out of the fortress. 

Agnes felt the sting of tears in her eyes as she stumbled out of Wyrm’s Rock. Her head swam with the gravity of what she had done and the ache to cause destruction. The cool night air hit her face as she slunk her way back into the Lower City. Agnes stumbled along the side roads of the city, her eyes darting around to ensure that no one was around. She zeroed in on a drunken man, half awake slumped on the ground, his back resting against a building. A wave of nausea spread through Agnes’ body as she imagined wrapping her hands around the man’s neck. She could envision the feeling of the life draining from him, it made her smile. Agnes tried to blink the thoughts away, only to realize she was holding the man’s lifeless body in her hands. She stumbled backwards, dropping him onto the ground, frantically looking around, hoping no one had seen her depravity. To her relief there was no one nearby. Without another look to the man, she slunk back into the shadows. Agnes continued to stumble through the streets of the lower city, her head swimming. She faded in and out of an awake stated, trying to keep her head on straight as she made her way to camp. She didn’t know how, but eventually she made it to the outskirts of where they had set up their tents. Looking down she realized her hands were bloodied and bruising, her cloak was splattered with crimson stains of blood.

Agnes slipped back into the camp, trying to quietly make her way to her tent without being seen. There was not a soul in sight, everyone seemed to be asleep. She reached her tent, entering it backwards to watch for her companions. “Where have you been?” She heard from behind her, turning to see Astarion perched on her bedroll with a book. “What are you doing in here?” She asked, trying to conceal herself in the shadows of her tent, hoping to hide the blood that stained her clothing and skin. Astarion rose to his feet, setting his book onto the ground. “I asked first,” he said, moving closer to her. Agnes tried to retreat farther into the shadows, but her back hit the wall of her tent. There was nowhere for her to go. Agnes walked into the candle light illuminating the tent, revealing that she was positively covered in blood, her hands bruised and raw. Astarion looked her over, tutting as he gently grabbed her hands and turned them about to inspect the wounds. “The Urge?” He asked, looking into her eyes. Agnes averted her gaze, nodding as she looked down. “What did you do, my love?” Astarion asked, taking a hand to lift up Agnes’ chin to look at him. “Please,” she said quietly, closing her eyes. “Please don’t ask,” she pleaded, looking up at the vampire. His face twisted into a frown as he examined Agnes’s face. He lifted a hand to her cheek as tears streamed down her face cutting pathways in the blood caked onto her. Astarion pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly in an embrace. At first, Agnes stiffened in his arms, eventually giving in and squeezing him tightly. “I’m sorry,” she whispered as he held her. Astarion pulled away from her, to look into her eyes. “It’s alright, darling. I’ve got you,” he said before pressing his lips to hers. Agnes gently kissed him back, wincing as her hand brushed against his. Astarion pulled back, lifting her hand so that he could examine the bruised and bloodied knuckles once again. “Maybe we should go see Shadowheart,” he said, grimacing at the wounds. “No!” Agnes snapped, pulling her hand away. “Please I don’t want anyone to see me like this,” she whispered, letting her head hang. 

“Alright. At least let me clean them,” he said, gently leading Agnes over to her bedroll. The rogue sat down reluctantly with her legs crossed and her hands perched on her knees. Astarion rummaged through Agnes’s pack, pulling out a rag and some water. As he gently dabbed the wounds on her hands, he took a deep breath. “You don’t have to tell me what you did. But I at least deserve for you to tell me where you went,” he said without looking up. Agnes looked at him, watching his face as he continued to clean her hands. His expression was steady, his brows knit together as he focused on being gentle with her hands. He knew something, she could tell. “You already know, don’t you?” she said, attempting to pull her hands away. Astarion held on to her, setting down the rag and looking up at her face. “I can smell his awful cologne on you, dear. I’m not surprised he has no taste,” Astarion said, his red eyes piercing into her. “Astarion I-“ she started, but was cut off by the vampire placing a hand on her cheek. “Did you find out what you went there to learn, at least?” He asked, as he looked at her, his expression remaining steady. “Astarion, I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what I was thinking,” she started, but he stopped her. “I’m not angry with you. I understand, really. If I were in your shoes I might have done the same. I just wish you would’ve told me. I… I was worried about you,” Astarion said, averting his gaze. Agnes brought her hand up to meet his, bringing it to her lips and kissing his knuckles. What did I ever do to deserve you?” Agnes asked, leaning her forehead to his. Astarion nuzzled his nose against hers before pulling her into a kiss. 

[thegemthatreads]

Alakai ‘Kai’ Novalar - Half-Elf Warlock Bhaalspawn

What is your Tav’s…

Favourite weapon: Bloodthirst Dagger. He loves to get all up and personal with his victims so they can see the bloodlust in his eyes.

Most prized possession: A little trinket Klarity made for him when they were younger. It was one of the very first things she made and tried to make a crescent moon out of vines. He carries it in his pocket wherever he goes and when he needs to calm down or needs a little’ luck push', he holds onto it.

Deepest desire: He doesn’t remember his past. Only that he had to look out for his little sister when they were younger, but after that, everything was a blur. So his deepest desire would be to create more memories, good or bad since he can never see the line between the two, especially with his family he found with Klarity.

Guilty pleasure: He loves to make people around him flustered. It could just be a stare or using what he’s learned against said person. He loves to watch them squirm and get red in the face, not able to say a sentence without stuttering.

Greatest strength: As cheesy as it sounds. His sister. She gave him the courage and the strength to be who he is today. Though most people see being a Bhaalspawn as a curse, his sister inspired him to use it to their advantage and use it for….mostly good purposes while still having fun with it. She may be the more calm and collected one and people friendly but when it comes to combat and strategizing, she’s more experienced compared to Alakai which inspires him to be more. She is the reason he gathered the strength to stay alive and keep fighting.

Greatest weakness: If Klarity or his partner is hurt or in trouble. He’s a mess. He can’t focus on anything but their safety. It would always cause him to get gravely injured. He either gets really scared/worried or so angry, all he sees is red and won’t stop till he gets to them, even if it means his life is in danger.

Fatal flaw: His rage can make him not think rationally. He would black out and wake up the next day with no recollection of what happened.

Favourite smell: The type of atmosphere smell when you’re by the lake. The fresh air with the fresh water smell, calms him and would always make him want to sit by the lake, basking in the moonlight (He prefers night to day)

Favourite spell or cantrip: Eldritch Blast (Especially when it throws the enemy back…preferably over a cliff)

Pet peeve: Gale keeps absorbing his favourite artefacts or little trinkets he thought a friend or his sister would like. (Normally when Alakai finds out Gale absorbed it, he ties Gale up like a hog in his tent as ‘punishment’ and leaves them there to think about what he’s done.)

Bad habit: He tends to have a snarl-like expression on his face 24/7. He was never a people person so it always made him unapproachable. It’s a habit he tries to break but always fails miserably at.

Hidden talent: He plays the Lute and he can juggle. (He had to entertain his little sister somehow growing up)

Leisure activity: Sitting by the river at night, watching the scene in front of him. Sometimes he likes to take naps with his back against the tree. Scratch and Owlie (He named the owlbear Owlie but refuses to tell anyone) curled up on either side. If he can’t sleep, he’ll hum to himself a tune he’d hear on the day.

Favourite drink: Mermaid Whiskey. It’s a bonus since he’s a sucker for bottle designs too.

Comfort food: Poutine. Potato, cheese and gravy all in one? Sign him UP!

Favourite person(s): He saw Shadowheart more as a sister as they travelled together. Although he should have disapproved of it, he was proud of her when she would try to threaten La’zael but would only smirk since he kinda liked the idea of the two together. Shadowheart was one of the very few people that would see the ‘teasing’ side of Alakai. Everytime there was tension between La’zael and her, when they would set up camp, he’d walk past her tent while making lewd gestures while pointing to La’zael and Shadowheart, causing her to chase him until he’d fall in the lake. They had a brother and sister bond that she didn’t wanna trade for anything.

La’zael he cherished so much. She was all about fighting and spilling blood which he LOVED. They bonded over the fact they wanted to constantly spill enemies blood. They both aren’t very familiar with having friends but he would die for her and would hope she’d do the same for him but would also respect her even more if she didn’t.

Astarion…well…Alakai thought he was a dick at first. Although when they first met, he didn’t like the fact at how much Astarion pulling a dagger on him, excited him. So in a panic he’d twist around, decking Astarion in the nose before scrambling to get up. That day was when their relationship blossomed. Astarion would always flirt with him or Klarity for some sort of protection which of course would urk Alakai the most. When they all found out that Astarion was a vampire, he made Astarion promise that he would drink from him only and not to touch his sister. They would always joke around and actually enjoy each other's company as time went by. Alakai didn’t want to admit it but he started to fall for the Pale Elf and wouldn’t do anything about it and would continue to continue the bond they built since he was convinced Astarion needed a friend more than any form of intimacy.

Karlach was a puppy in Alakai’s eyes. He wanted to make sure she’d get the escape and happiness she wanted and would bend his back backwards for the Tiefling. Although she had the strength and courage to look after herself and such, that didn’t stop him from wanting to keep her safe. The same with all of his friends.

Favoured display of affection: If he really cared for the person, forehead kisses or a faint smile. He wasn’t always one for affection and when he’d be worried about an upcoming battle, he’d give the people he really cared about an encouraging smile or a forehead kiss, depending on the person. If it was someone he is involved with, an arm around their waist while kissing the side of their head or resting his forehead against theirs.

Fondest childhood memory: He doesn’t remember much but only the laughter and fun he shared with his sister.

Is there anything else you'd like to share? (feel free to include art or a screenshot of your Tav if available!)

When they finished facing Cazador, after Astarion decided not to ascend and let off all his feelings. Alakai crouched down, his head bowed so Astarion could have his moment of relief. Later that night in camp, Alakai went to check up on him and when he could see the pain in Astarion’s eyes, he gave a look to Astarion, asking for permission to hug him and when he is given permission, he pulls Astarion into a hug, resting his face in the crook of Astarions neck before moving his head to give a faint kiss on Astarions forehead and gives a faint smile to him. “I’m happy you’re finally your own person, if you ever need a night hunting person, I’m always available.”

Later that night, Shadowheart goes to Alakai’s tent as he’s reading a book he found. Shadowheart kneels beside him and has a knowing smirk on her face, Alakai already sensing what is about to happen, he closes his book and exhales through his nose. Shadowheart then reenacts Alakai’s words that were said to Astarion, causing Alakai to growl and throw his book at Shadowheart that runs out of his tent laughing.

Also fun fact, Alakai doesn’t like to show his soft side often but when he does, he gets so lovey dovey towards Scratch and ‘Owlie’, fawning over them and giving them plenty of treats while everyone watches, shocked that Alakai even had that side of him (considering they only saw the anger looking, murderous side of him). He even allows them to sleep in his tent which leads to them curling up to his side.